


In The Spaces Of The Dark

by milkyway



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Angst, BAMF Lydia Martin, Blood and Gore, Bromance, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Catholic Guilt, Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Derek Uses His Words, Domestic Derek and Stiles, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Future Fic, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Male Bonding, Mates, Minor Character Death, Musical References, Non-Linear Narrative, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Poltergeists, Psychological Horror, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Scent Marking, Slow Build, Stiles's Name, Supernatural Elements, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 91,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkyway/pseuds/milkyway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school is over and Stiles is both excited and apprehensive about the last summer the pack will spend together before college. Because something's missing from the equation. Someone, in fact. </p>
<p>And it doesn't help that the nightmares he hasn't had in years have come back, while strange things start happening in the Stilinski household.</p>
<p>As a terrible, evil presence descends, the pack will have to face the ultimate test in the biggest, most frightening adventure they could ever have imagined before horror rages out of control in Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyX/gifts), [nogitsune_lichen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogitsune_lichen/gifts).



> All I can say is that this, my first work in the TW fandom, is a fiction smoothie:
> 
> Inspired by a LOT of things: Several T.S. Eliot poems (mainly "Rhapsody on a Windy Night", "The Waste Land" and "Preludes" -- several chapter titles allude to this -- ), "The Second Coming" by W.B. Yeats, an angsty Catholic youth and a shameless nod to Tobe Hooper's magnum opus, "Poltergeist", one of my favourite films. Oh, and Little Red Riding Hood of course. I am a language nerd and there is a sprinkling of Latin, Czech and French phrases which are used in a cultural context, mainly as Stilinski backstory, I am happy to provide translations of quotes where I might have forgotten to do so; I am really not trying to be pretentious in this regard.
> 
> Then I put all this into a blender with a million syrupy feels and my love of all types of music, especially Dvorak and Debussy; "Clair de Lune" features prominently in the work and I did this without realising that Twilight already cannibalised it :( My favourite rendition of the piece can be found here: http://youtu.be/ZIsQPdC9YnY 
> 
> Also I plagiarised bits of the plot from my own work "Stronger Than Lions", an original novella I wrote under the name Sean J Halford. So there.
> 
> This is a long, rambling futurefic, everything is basically canon up to the Season 3a finale.
> 
> As I am a novice fanfiction writer — please take the time to comment and give suggestions! Thanks for reading!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters of the TV Series Teen Wolf and have no pecuniary interests in this regard. Quotations or tweaks from poems are to the best of my knowledge used in accordance with fair use policy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just a dream... or was it?

Stiles is floating. 

He doesn't know how, but his body hovers above the snow. The flakes are falling fast; the wind whips around everywhere, a million tiny vortices trying to get under his skin and flay him alive. He is moving, somehow, the way the branches rush over him, even as he looks away, frightened they might reach down and claw his eyes out.

It's then that he remembers running from the creature. The hot putrid breath behind him, the snarling, the slobbering, the yellow eyes bright. Then the thud, the trip, the tumble, and the blinding pain as he slams into the ground. He tries to scream but there's no breath. He waits to die.

And then, he's floating, and the warm blood trickling down his shoulder and his arm reassures him he's still very much alive and getting queasy from the loss of blood and whatever's moving him so fast isn't helping either.

Then he sees him —the one who's been carrying him— just a profile, in silhouette, as the moon briefly peeks out from the clouds.

"Who... who are you..."

And then, the awful shriek of the creature in front of them, and they're falling, and now he has breath enough to scream...

"Stiles."

" _Stiles_!"

Mrs Stilinski shook Stiles gently by his shoulders. The scream was the same every time he had the dream, and after several times she and her husband had perfected the way to wake him without inducing too much of a panic.

Stiles's eyes shot open and he stared at his mother, shivering.

"Mama!"

Claudia Stilinski flicked on the night light and stroked her seven year-old son's arm. 

"It's okay, Stilesey, it was just a dream."

"Claudia?" John Stilinski called sleepily down the passage. "Is he okay?"

"Fine, honey," she said. "I've got this one." 

Stiles's rapid breathing slowed somewhat has he heard his mother's gentle alto.  He fumbled around and found Mr Eddy, his teddy bear, and hugged him tight.

"Was it the same dream, sweetie?"

Stiles frowned and nodded his little head rapidly. His dark mop was damp with sweat and a spitcurl dangled on his forehead, so that he looked like a tiny Superman.

"But you got away from the monster," she said evenly. She knew the tableau all too well.

"Yes, Mama. He carried me."

"The man?"

The little boy nodded again. The man with the shining eyes had appeared once or twice in the past, but he hadn't featured this much before. 

"Were you scared? Of him?"

"No. He was trying to keep me from... from the... monster...but I couldn't see his face. I wish I could have seen his face. I wanted to thank him, but then I woke up."

Claudia smiled gently and kissed her son on the cheek.

"Do you want to come sleep in the big bed with me and Daddy?"

The boy considered it for a while, then shook his head, smiling. "That's okay, Mama. But stay here until I fall asleep."

"Of course I will, sweetheart. And I'll tell Mr Eddie to be on watch the whole night."

"And T-Rex," Stiles chipped in. "His teeth glow in the dark. I'm sure they're poisonous to monsters."

Claudia chuckled gently and mussed her son's soft brown hair.

"Sing grandma's song," Stiles said, drawing himself into a little ball and yawning.

Claudia nodded, and sang the old song her own mother taught her:

 

_All around my hat_

_I will wear the green willow_

_And all around my hat_

_For a twelve month and a day_

_And if anybody should ask me_

_The reason why I'm wearing it_

_It's all for my true love_

_Who's far, far away_

  

He was out by the second stanza. She stayed a long while that night, watching the moonlight wash through the louvres of the window and paint her son with stripes of dark blue and silver. She sighed and absent-mindedly clutched her left breast, worrying her fingers around the small scar where they'd removed the lump six months ago.

It had all been caught in time, the doctors had said; there was no need for a mastectomy, and the course of chemo and radiotherapy she'd had was merely a precaution.

They'd pronounced her cured already two months ago.

But Stiles had the first nightmare the very day after she went home from the hospital.

And the nightmares weren't stopping.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All Around My Hat" is a 19th century English folk song with various interpretations, typically about a young man who is mourning his separation from his true love; he wears the green willow as a symbol of his unhappiness (green willow is a traditional symbol of mourning.) As this fic deals cenrally with grief (oh! the pathos!) I thought it apt, if a little Freudian, that Claudia sing this to young Stiles.
> 
>  
> 
> A famous version sung by the British folk rock band Steeleye Span can be seen here (kooky, but charming)   
> http://youtu.be/3zzwbYyvWiU


	2. A Widening Gyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Senior year is over, and Stiles hopes the perfect summer is ahead — even if it might be wishful thinking.

Summer.

Glorious summer.

Senior year had raced by all too quickly, and the early start of summer was especially poignant now. In just a few weeks he and Scott and Allison and Lydia —and, somewhere in Connecticut, even Jackson, the Abercrombie Werewolf himself— would all be that oxymoron, _young adult_. 

In the fall they'd all be going their separate ways. Stanford had accepted Stiles for pre-med (he was always a shoe-in, tailing Lydia's perfect GPA by a nanometre); Scott and Allison would be traveling through Europe on a gap year. Isaac was going to to try his hand at being surf instructor in Hawaii while Lydia was off to Columbia to study chemical engineering. Jackson was so totally going to follow Daddy's footsteps to Harvard Law School.

And Stiles would be starting university and still be a virgin, no surprise there. 

Screw it, Stiles muttered under his breath as he kicked off the sheets. He'd been worrying the future around in his mind for at least half an hour, unable to start reveling in the day. It was a bright, beautiful Saturday morning in Beacon Hills. There was absolutely nothing to do except vegetate and he was so totally going to do that by the Martins' pool. 

He hadn’t seen the gang in nearly a week, throwing himself into his vacation job, and it was going to be awesome shooting the breeze and drinking too many cocktails with them. Especially Lydia; he couldn’t wait to jabber on about how she’d changed his reading life by introducing him to E. M. Forster of all things. He’d read _A Room With A View_ in a day after she handed the book to him saying,

“Go on," she had said, "I really think you need a break from torturing yourself with French existentialism."

"I've got vintage _Judge Dredd_  if that would make you feel better."

"Try it. I think some elegant British prose will hit the spot much better than a gore-soaked graphic novel.”

Three years of well, _werewolves_ had cemented a slow but growing friendship, and despite the odd growls from the Once-Evil-Non-Gay-Alpha-Twin, Stiles could now actually engage in platonic conversation with his muse without collapsing in a heap of flailing limbs and adrenaline every time his eyes met hers.

He should be soaking up the summer, he thought, but, fuck, Derek. Derek, tragic can't-get-a-fucking-break Hale. Why was he suddenly thinking about him? He'd been thinking about him a _lot_ lately, ever since he had refused to join Scott's pack despite a year of multiple pleadings and concerns about his safety. 

Stiles blew out his cheeks as he shuffled to the bathroom. He hadn't seen Old Sourwolf in nearly a year, ever since he moved to Sacramento. Sure, Derek had pretty much faded out of things after Peter had eventually joined the werewolf choir invisible for the second and hopefully last time. Yet the parting seemed final now: except for Stiles, everyone was leaving California.

The world was darker and older now; no summer could erase that. Stiles had almost grown used to the creeping sense of despair that regularly squirmed around in his skull, ever since he and Scott and Allison had made the sacrifice to save their parents. The adventures with Deucalion and the Darach had been just a prelude to the shitstorm that followed, Peter's sordid reign of terror being just one example. Even as Allison's wolfsbane arrow had pierced the Evil Uncle Hale's heart —just as the fucker was about to slit Scott's throat— they'd all known the next army of evil was already coasting towards Beacon Hills.

_And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?_

Stiles shuddered as he realized he’d been mouthing the words of Yeats’s poem over and over in the shower. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing under the water, but _The Second Coming_ was a fitting description of the last few years of his life. He was eighteen now and should be getting drunk and waking up next to girls he didn’t know, not baring his soul to a universe that seemed fit to rain horror down on everyone he cared about.

No wonder he’d traded Star Wars for Sartre.

He didn’t trust the recent lull in supernatural events at all, he thought while shaving. Certainly, it had been pleasant writing his final exams and graduating without the intrusion of faeries or harpies or demons, but he doubted he’d be starting at Stanford without at least one more salsa with the supernatural. As if to punctuate this, a little drop of blood careered down his cheek where he had nicked himself, mixing with the foam and landing in the sink as a sickly pink splotch. 

“Stop it, Stilinski, you’re awesome,” he said to his reflection after he’d brushed his teeth. “You’re going to do nothing today but bake your brains in the sun until they leak out.”

He paced back to his bedroom, smiling to himself as he heard his father fussing about with breakfast downstairs. The Sheriff had become a mother hen lately, putting his arms around his son at every opportunity and organizing so much Stilinksi Father-Son Time they could be in their own small-town, middle-class version of _The Pursuit of Happyness_.

A pall of nervousness had descended upon Stiles’s dad ever since his own introduction to the supernatural at the hands of the Darach. But it was much worse now. The Sheriff had accepted with considerable aplomb that his son ran with werewolves, that his son’s once-awkward, asthmatic, shy best friend was now the _alpha_ of a pack Stiles was an honorary member of. But Stiles’s looming departure for college was almost more than he could bear. He’d told Stiles he really didn’t have to hang around the whole summer, but the boy had insisted on taking a part-time job as an orderly at the hospital. Stiles had said it was the first step to padding his tentative medical resume, but John knew the boy was hanging around to make his old man feel safe. 

That was Stiles, always putting himself before others. But that was his wont, just like Claudia had been. 

“Not too bad, bro,” Stiles said as he looked at himself again, this time flexing himself before the full-length mirror in his cupboard. He was filling out nicely after Isaac had taken pity on him and dragged him off to gym, convincing him that Slightly Physically Stronger Stiles would at least partly compensate his ever-present risk of slipping and braining himself on a blunt object. Just last week he had managed to bench half his weight without screaming like a girl. 

He patted his abs —he’d always had abs, but lately they were also due to muscle than just skinny physiognomy– and looked slightly quizzically at his biceps which, _yes_ , were not just little matchsticks anymore. Stilinski, _Men’s Health_ cover model? He burst out laughing. But it was a start. He’d never be a Derek Hale, but...

For God’s sake, _Derek_. Why Derek again? And why the hell was he now thinking about Derek on a fitness magazine cover, wearing nothing but Abercrombie boxers, and that that was kind of awesome?

Before he could muse about this, his phone bleeped mercifully.

 

Scott:

_hey bud where r u? we’re all here at the pool_

 

Stiles:

_Oh crap. Already? I’ll be there soon. Just need to grab some breakfast with the dad._

 

Scott:

_can u pick up some more burgers 4 the barbecue_

 

Stiles:

_Let me guess. The twins have already raided the kitchen, eaten all the meat and Lydia is pissed as hell._

 

Scott:

_ya. feeling on the spot here bud allison still mad at me 4 forgetting our anvrsry & lydia all pissy need bro backup_

 

Stiles:

_Will be there as soon as I can. What about Isaac and Danny?_

 

Scott:

_allisons bitching to isaac & aidan trying 2 calm down lydia & danny is making out with ethan _

 

Stiles:

_Well at least somebody’s getting some action._

 

Scott:

_ur not helping_

 

Stiles:

_You’re the Alpha, assert yourself._

 

Scott:

_u know im not a dick :)_

 

Stiles:

_I know that, numbnuts. Now fuck off so I can actually get there!_

 

Scott:

_lol thx bro i owe u_

 

Stiles shook his head, smiling. Scott was an awesome Alpha, but one would think the leader of a pack — a _t true_ Alpha at that— would have stopped using txtspk by now. Come to think of it, Derek always texted in full sentences (when he did text, which was admittedly rare. Stiles was quite taken aback when he discovered the ex-Alpha knew how to use the Internet and carried an iPhone.) Dammit, Derek Hale _again_. 

He pulled on some boardshorts and his favourite Star Wars T-shirt and raced down the stairs.

“Morning, son,” said the Sheriff, patting his shoulder.

“Waffles _and_ flapjacks, Dad?”

“I know how much you love them." 

“You love them too. It’s weekend, though, I’ll forgive the carb and fat explosion.”

“You really are a diet Nazi son, but I appreciate it. My cholesterol is the lowest it’s been in three years." 

Stiles snorted. "Can I help?"

"You can make coffee if you like. Put on the kettle on so long."

Stiles furrowed his brow. "It's just boiled, Dad," he said, indicating the steam coming from its spout.

"Oh?" said the Sheriff. "I must have switched it on without thinking."

"Probably," said Stiles, and set about grabbing some mugs. After he'd made the coffee he sat down with his father and helped himself to the morning's feast, pouring a sinful amount of syrup on his bacon and waffles.

“These flapjacks are awesome, Dad. Like probably your best ever.”

The Sheriff downed his OJ and followed this with a long sip of coffee. “I can never quite do it the way your mother did, but it’s close.”

Stiles bit his lip. He could see the look in his father’s eyes, the little bright twinge that always flashed across them whenever he spoke of his wife. Stiles felt something icy splash across the inside of his chest and started drumming his foot furiously against the counter as he tried not to think of leaving for Stanford. Even though he’d been afforded a full fucking scholarship to an institution with a five, yes _five_ , percent acceptance rate, the thought of leaving his father alone in Beacon Hills made him feel terribly guilty. The world was creeping in between father and son, between Stiles and his boyhood, and it seemed to be whirling faster and faster, uncoiling with an infernal acceleration. 

As if he sensed his son’s unease, his father changed the subject. “So is this a sort of pack meeting you’re going to?”

“God, I hope not. No. Just chilling out at Lydia’s." 

“Great. You deserve it. I really would have wanted you to take a rest, Stiles, but I think it’s wonderful you’re assisting at the hospital, even if they’re paying you next to nothing.” 

“Thanks, Dad. I enjoy it. Scott’s mom is teaching me a lot.” 

“I never thought you’d be in for a career that includes a significant amount of blood.” 

“I kind of have developed a career in dealing with blood on a daily basis,” Stiles shot back with a grin. “And it’s usually black, wolfsbane-poisoned werewolf blood.” 

“Touché, son.”

The Sheriff chuckled, remembering how Stiles could get dizzy during an episode of _E.R.._

Stiles was about to elaborate on other types of gore he’d been exposed to, like troll brains or faerie slime ( _really_ smelly) but he thought better of it, as he saw the sun streaming in through the kitchen window, signaling a day that spoke of a world where there were no such things as monsters.

“You going to be okay with me at the conference next week?” the Sheriff said suddenly, putting on his concerned face. In his mind, Stiles was always going to be the small wide-eyed boy whom he wanted to put on his shoulders. 

“Of course, Dad,” said Stiles, and glugged down the dregs of his coffee. “Plus I have the whole...”

“Pack," said the Sheriff. Even after two years, the concept was strange to him. He consoled himself with the fact that Scott was, really, Stiles’s brother, and John Stilinski couldn't help feeling a bit of vicarious paternal pride as he thought of what a fine young man his son’s best friend was turning out to be, werewolf or not. He thought about the Hale boy, who seemed never to have been afforded any happiness. When Stiles had told him the whole story, that rainy afternoon after everyone had recovered from the whole incident with the Darach, he understood instantly why Derek had gone and bitten Boyd and Erica, God rest their souls, and Isaac.

It wasn’t really for power. The kid —he really was still just a kid— had wanted  _family_.

He hoped he was doing okay in Sacramento, in whatever way he was eking out an existence with his younger sister. At least he still had her, he hoped, and silently thanked God that, even with Claudia gone, Stiles had a home and people who loved him.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” said Stiles, who had gotten up and started packing away the plates in the dishwasher. He was staring at its insides.

“Did you pack the dishwasher last night?” 

"Uh, no, I thought you did, because we agreed that you deal with rotting plates in the sink while I do the laundry. Maybe you were working late and in some sort of highway hypnosis?"

The Sheriff pondered this for a moment and then shrugged. "Sounds about right."

"And  _I'm_ the one with attention-deficit problems," Stiles sighed, while his father chuckled.

"Sorry, son, your old man is showing his age. You get going and have a good time with your friends."

Stiles nodded and hugged his father goodbye. He kind of wished he could have sat through the morning unsullied and watch the game on TV later with his pop, but then he walked out into the Northern Californian sunshine and could only think of pool loungers and Mai Tais and, yes, Lydia in a bikini. She wasn't quite the crush he'd invested all of his teenage testosterone in any more, but still, there was nothing wrong with a bit of window-shopping now and then.

The sun beat down on Stiles’s back as he walked towards his Jeep, and he smiled. 

When he arrived at Lydia’s he wasn’t aware of his nails digging into his palms, as if something in his body was not _quite_ convinced that this was going to be a perfect summer day.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's a beginning... and the plot bunnies are multiplying exponentially... I had better get the next couple of chapters going!


	3. Slivers of Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Screw Derek. He missed the bastard. He missed the taunts and half-assed threats and constant bickering. It was never quite a friendship (and if it had been, it was really rather twisted and mildly abusive), but they'd been through the equivalent of wars together. There had been solidarity. They had saved each others asses countless times. They had wanted to rip each other's throats out just as many times (though in Stiles's case, the feeling could only be metaphorical.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta'd but thanks for your patience!

"Oh look, another human, thank God," said Lydia, kissing Stiles on the cheek after she opened the door. Stiles's pulse still quickened every time he was near her, and even this peck on the cheek made him think of the time she gave him his first, glorious kiss, even if it had been meant to stave off a panic attack.

"Hello, my beautiful banshee," he said, chuckling. Lydia rolled her eyes while Stiles saw Aiden hovering in the background, glowering at him. Stiles would never be quite comfortable with the twins even if they had lost their alpha status and had reformed. They were still bloodthirsty murderers in his eyes. 

But Aidan made Lydia happy, it seemed, and he liked this new Lydia, who was quickly becoming one of his closest friends to the point that Scott was getting antsy for bro time. He hardly missed his angsty unrequited crush on her, even as she looked glorious in the skimpy coral bikini.

Stiles dumped the bags of groceries he'd picked up from the store on the kitchen counter and followed her outside to the pool where he was greeted by lazy hello's from the gang.  

Allison hugged him hello and pushed a Mai Tai into his hand.

"I love you so much right now," he said, and glugged the cocktail down. "That was just what I needed."

"Thank Lydia. You know she always makes the best stuff."

"Minus the wolfsbane this time," said Scott from where he was floating on a lounger. Stiles nodded, recalling that birthday party of Lydia's where he'd spent two months' allowance on gifts for his first love and promptly found himself part of a drug-induced nightmare trip from the inadvertently spiked punch. 

The afternoon was anodyne and halcyon; they barbecued, they swam, they shot the breeze. It felt so _normal_ , that as the summer sunshine beat down on his pale skin (heavily slathered with SPF 40 by a concerned Danny and Ethan) he forgot for a while that he was Stiles Stilinski, the boy who ran with a pack of _werewolves_ , the human who had premium investments in the top shares of the Weird Street Stock Exchange. 

Even as he bantered with Scott about the latest Star Trek movie and got embroiled in a tense game of humans vs. werewolves Pictionary, he couldn't help staving off a ripple of sadness as he realized everybody around him was part of a couple. Lydia and Aidan. Ethan and Danny. Scott and Allison, Isaac and Linda, the pretty blonde from the video store he'd finally managed to ask out after weeks of coaching from Stiles himself. Like all Stilinski men, Stiles had been raised to be the perfect gentleman, even if he never got the opportunity to put it into practice.

He tried not to think of the fact that he was not just the universal sidekick in the pack, the go-to guy for relationship problems and supernatural research and homework help. He was also the token virgin, even though he also functioned as a part-time sex therapist with his exhaustive knowledge of human anatomy and physiology and practically all the works of Kinsey and Masters & Johnson.

It was depressing. Scott was an _awesome_ best friend and de facto brother, and was always unashamedly tactile with Stiles with their bromance stronger than ever post-Alpha Pack, but Stiles felt eternally out of the loop. There was no-one whom he could cuddle up with, no-one to give him hickeys or write bad poetry about. Not even anybody to slam him against a wall and...

No way. Who was pushing pins into the brain of his voodoo doll? 

Screw Derek. He _missed_ the bastard. He missed the taunts and half-assed threats and constant bickering. It was never quite a friendship (and if it had been, it was really rather twisted and mildly abusive), but they'd been through the equivalent of _wars_ together. There had been solidarity. They had saved each others asses countless times. They had wanted to rip each other's throats out just as many times (though in Stiles's case, the feeling could only be metaphorical.)

And, he realised, he'd never been frightened of the grumpy, ridiculously buff werewolf, and hadn't thought twice about holding him up in the pool for hours as he dangled helplessly limp and vulnerable in his arms.

Neither of them had ever thanked each other.  And then, the bastard had left. _Twice._  

There was an anger in the pit of his stomach now, a feeling he hadn't felt in over a year, something he had put down to his resentment at the preternatural interfering constantly in his studies and his tenuous grip on first line at lacrosse.

Frailty, thy name is Stiles, he muttered to himself, as he tried to suppress the thought that part of the reason he was pissed at Derek was that there was a difference between saving Derek and saving Scott. He'd sacrifice himself for Scott in an instant because Scott was family. But saving Derek made him feel, more than anything else, that Stiles Stilinski _mattered_.  

 "Bro. What gives?" said Scott, sitting down next to his friend and putting his arm round him. It was late afternoon and they were all in a post-barbecue and sun-baked stupor.

"Nothing," said Stiles, swinging his legs in the water where he sat at the edge of the pool. He hoped that Scott wouldn't pick up that he was lying. If he did, he didn't mention it.

"You've been sitting there staring into space for like ages. Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Stiles said, shrugging. And that was the truth. "I guess I'm just tired. And I've been thinking about how we're all leaving at the end of the summer."

Scott whined softly and bumped his nose against his friend, a gesture that was reserved only for Stiles and Allison.  

One of the awesomest things about Scott, and probably his weakness, was that he never treated anybody in his pack as beneath him. The pack was probably more afraid of Stiles than they were of their puppy-dog eyed Alpha, because, in all honesty, Stiles could be frightening when he was really pissed. The jabbering and flailing and fragility disappeared and he would summon an icy, calm rage that left one completely taken aback and could send people twice his size cowering.

He'd only ever shown it to the pack once, when Aiden made some douchebag comment about Danny being Ethan's little bitch in heat; walking slowly up to him and quietly intoning _I'm sorry, would you like to rewind and repeat that again?_

The big boy was completely slack-jawed as Stiles had grabbed him by the collar –Derek style, Scott later chuckled to himself with mirth— and looked him straight in the eye. _If you ever speak about my friend that way again God help me I will decalcify your fucking werewolf spine with wolfsbane and rip it out and slap you across your bigoted face with it even if you tear me into a thousand pieces._  

Stiles had put it down to a glitch in in the Matrix, but there was never any meanness  in the pack after that.

 "It'll be okay bro, you know it's a big adventure for all of us. You're going to make an awesome doctor and I'm going to see the world while I make up my mind what to do with my life." 

Stiles nodded quickly, but avoided catching his friend's concerned gaze.  

"Have you heard from Derek?" Stiles asked suddenly, immediately shocked at his question.

"No," said Scott, sounding equally surprised. "Why?"

"Just wondering."

"I've texted him, tried to call him, but he never answers. I even tried from a number he wouldn't recognize but when I said hello he put the phone down. And Cora's just vague. I don't even know if they're together any more."

"Guess you can lead a wolf to water..." said Stiles. "You tried." 

"We tried. I kind of feel I owe him; he taught me... us... a lot." 

"Guess he was tired of all the bad memories in Beacon Hills," Stiles added, and flushed when he knew that that made perfect sense. 

Scott nodded, and drew his friend in for a hug.

"Relax, buddy," said Stiles as Scott practically forced his face into his shoulder. "I'm just wistful."

"Sometimes I wish you wouldn't _feel_ things so intensely. Anyway. Time for ice-cream and coffee and reruns of _3rd Rock From The Sun._  

Clouds were gathering on the horizon from the direction of Hill Valley, and from the day's heat Stiles knew a storm was coming. He always wondered if lightning would hit the old clock tower again like it had apparently in 1955. Such was his exhaustive knowledge of arcane trivia.

"I think I'm going to go home," Stiles said. "I need to spend some time with my Dad before he goes away next week."

"Sure bro. But we have to meet up again tomorrow. Lydia's jonesing to plan your birthday party and I promised her you'd be there."

"But I've already had my birthday! You and Allison had dinner with our folks.:

"She feels you need a proper celebration," said his friend. "And frankly, I wouldn't protest... you know how Lydia turns things into personal productions..."

"Guess I have no control in the matter then," he said, and then smiled. "Well, it should be kind of awesome, Lydia's partys are always the best... I mean, when there isn't any wolfsbane in the punch, that is."

"Yes," said Scott, nodding gravely.

 

 

 

*

 

Lydia’s house was only a few blocks from the Stilinski’s, but Stiles had a sudden craving for a milkshake so he found himself driving past his house to the diner . He had plugged in his iPod and was blaring Travis’s _The Invisible Band_ —the awesomest happy-tragic album of all time— at a gratuitous volume when he found himself pulling off the road in front of the old gate at the edge of the forest.

The words _Hale Estate: Private Property_ were barely visible on the rotting wood of the sign. Stiles stared at it for a long time until he noticed that _Follow The Light_ had finished.  

He got out and tugged at the gate that was heavily entwined with ivy. It creaked open. 

“Ok, Stilinski,” he said to himself, getting back in. “I''m not sure why I've stopped, but let's get it the fuck over with.” 

The Jeep hobbled along the track contentedly, Stiles craning his neck up to glance at the canopy of the forest. He’d driven this path so many times in the past, sometimes at breakneck pace, in rain, in wind, under full moons and new moons. The woods had never scared him. He once made his father stop the car when a panic attack started looming as they rounded the bend along the woods on the way to the cemetery. He had run a good few hundred yards into the forest, his father yelling in tow, until the Sheriff had found his son cowering under a great pine gulping great breaths of air and  rocking himself to the rhythm of the wind rustling through the trees. He eventually calmed down, closing his eyes and listening to the sounds of the forest, and he swore he had heard the laughter of children in the distance, but he never told his dad.

The Hale house sprawled dark and tragic at the end of the track as it always had. Stiles parked the Jeep in the remains of the old driveway and walked towards the house. Orange light was splashing across the one outside wall that had not burnt. There was evidence of some recent activity as he saw scattered bits of trash, mainly sweet wrappers and empty bags of potato chips. Obviously some people came to picnic here or gawk at the scene of the old tragedy. Stiles was angry. It was still private property. 

He busied himself picking up the trash, muttering to himself. He caught glimpse of an owl swooping above the clearing and noticed that things were dead silent. But for all the Blair Witch vibes the tableau screamed Stiles was hardly afraid. He just felt a great sadness. 

He walked up to the front door and cautiously tried it; it swung open slowly. There was still enough light to see ahead of him.

He’d never really spent much time inside the actual house, not because it creeped him out, but because he didn’t want to nose about in a place where so many innocent souls had lost their lives. Children. Mothers. Fathers. Brothers. 

Stiles thought of his mom. His loss had been awful, but not horrifying and sudden. He wondered which was worse — watching your loved one slip away slowly in a haze of morphine, but with enough time for them to tell you they loved you, or suddenly be informed at school that your mother and your father and most of the rest of your family had burned to death and your home was destroyed. 

Stiles was grateful he had been with his mom right until the end, his face buried into her side. His father still berated himself for not being there, but Stiles never held it against him. He couldn’t imagine what Derek must have felt. 

As much as he tried to suppress hit, he kind of understood why Peter had gone all Freddy Kruger on Kate Argent. 

He shuffled around the house, making out the remains of a living room, a den and a large kitchen where there was still a large long table. He imagined it before the fire, bright and sunny and abuzz with the Hales sitting around the table for breakfast while Talia fussed with bacon and eggs. Derek and Cora calling each other names. Mr Hale trying to keep the peace with his kids while engrossed in his crossword. A normal family. He knew Derek had had a baby sister who wasn’t a werewolf and an older brother apart from Laura and Cora, and that apart from Peter his aunt lived there with her (human) husband and three children. That much he had gleaned from the police records; he always wanted to know more, but out of respect had obviously never broached the subject with the sourwolf. 

What struck him the most were the pictures on the wall of the staircase. Gingerly, he walked up a few steps and stared at one of the photographs that had not been completely covered with soot. It was a picture of a smiling Talia with her arm around what was probably Laura and a wide-eyed toddler Derek. Talia looked heavily pregnant, and it struck him that only her eyes were doing the lens-flare thing. Apparently werewolves only manifested there powers later — probably during puberty.

He chuckled to himself briefly, imagining the difficulty of dealing with moody teenagers who were not just coping with raging hormones but also newly-developed superpowers. 

It was then that he spotted the piano in the corner of his eye, in the far wall of the main living room.

Without quite knowing why, he found himself walking up to it. It seemed intact. It was an upright made of beautiful walnut finish, even if the one side was covered in soot. Carefully, he opened the cover and pressed a note. 

The sound was surprisingly mellow, and Stiles was startled as the note sang and echoed through the house. It was an A, as his mother had taught him, the note an entire orchestra tunes by.

Carefully, his hands spelled out several octaves’ worth of an A major arpreggio. Suddenly, he was seven years old again, bumbling his way through scales under the patient eyes of old Mrs Gradinski whose house smelled of cat pee.

The piano was in tune; who would have thought. 

He spied some sheet music lying on top of the piano and carefully picked up the top album.

_Debussy — Suite Bergamasque_

The name of the piece rang a bell. He paged through the music: _Prélude, Menuet,_ and then, there it was: 

_Clair de Lune,_ the Frenchman’s most famous piece, the notes cascading across the staves in all their D-flat major glory.

Moonlight. Well, obviously the Hales had a copy, because, _werewolves._  

He knew the piece very well — it was his mother’s favourite, and she owned several recordings of it. He’d always wanted to learn it, but he stopped playing after his mother went bald from the chemo and he shaved his hair off in solidarity.

Cautiously, he formed his fingers around the opening notes. A simple F and A flat, repeated an octave above, intoning a limpid melody in 9/8. Stiles hadn’t touched a piano in years, never mind sight-read. 

But slowly, he played the first few bars without any mishaps. The notes spread throughout the house like little slivers of —yes— moonlight. 

He was about to attempt the first cascade of deep chords when a floorboard squeaked behind him.  

Stiles froze.

“Don’t...” said a voice.

Stiles spun around.

“Don’t stop,” the voice said again in a low whisper.

Stiles gasped as he found himself staring into a pair of familiar green-grey eyes. 


	4. Coffee In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prodigal werewolf returns, and Stiles can't figure out why he's feeling so angry and so sad at the same time.

 

"Derek?! What the fuck are you doing here?"

Derek pursed his lips and stared at Stiles. "I could ask you the same thing," he said in a monotone.

"I... I...I was just...I mean... I didn't mean to..." Stiles fumbled, throwing his hands up in the air and tapping one foot on the floor. He was trying very hard to dampen down the adrenaline surge that was coursing through his body.

Derek kept Stiles in his gaze, but his expression was more quizzical than angry.

"I didn't know you could play," he said nonchalantly, as if meeting Stiles in the burnt-out house was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"I... I used to... when I was little..."

"My mother used to play that," said Derek, and his voice was soft. "I haven't heard _Clair de Lune_ in years."

Stiles nodded rapidly, not sure what to say. "My mom loved that piece too," he blurted out. "So now we both have dead mothers who had good taste in classical music...oh shit, that was insensitive...I'm sorry... I'm a bit freaked out here and honestly did you have to do your creeper thing and nearly make me lose both bladder and bowel control?"

Derek didn't say anything, but shrugged and remained rooted to the spot.

"I was not creeping. This is my own house. I was sleeping upstairs and I heard you come in. I smelled you immediately. I thought you'd leave but when I heard you playing I came down."

"You remember me by scent? After a year? Why, do I stink of something?"

Derek raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say that. You smell like — "

"W-w-w-wait now," said Stiles in a high tenor and facepalming the air in front of Derek. "Rewind to the beginning. How long have you been in Beacon Hills and why are you back after all this time? We were beginning to think you were dead."

"I've been back a week or so. Sacramento wasn't working out."

"Oh. Ok. But where's the Camaro? I would have noticed it when I drove in."

"Sold it."

Stiles's jaw dropped. "Why?" he said, in spite of himself. "It was awesome."

Derek shrugged again. He was doing a lot of shrugging. "Needed the money."

Stiles furrowed his brows. "I thought you were pretty flush – I mean I heard there was life insurance money, and a college fund... oh fuck, there I go again prodding where I shouldn't."

"It's complicated. It's all tied up in investments I can only access when I'm 25, and the bulk of the college fund is Cora's. I've used up my bit."

"You're younger than 25?"

"Stiles. I finished at Beacon Hills High two years before you started high school. Surprised with all your sleuthing you didn't know that."

Stiles shook his head. Derek didn't seem that much older now that he did the math.

"So where's Cora?"

"Touring overseas before she starts college. She's always wanted to. Thought it might be good for her to get away."

"And you're helping to pay for this?"

"Stop asking so many questions. I can look after myself."

"I'm... I'm sorry," said Stiles. "I didn't mean to pry."

"Never mind," said Derek. "Um. Let's go to the kitchen, I can offer you a cup of coffee. I can tell you're not going to go away."

"The kitchen is functional?"

Derek snorted.

Stiles followed Derek mutely to the remains of the kitchen and saw him flick a switch, and, magically, a lone light bulb turned on. In the light, Stiles saw Derek's face properly for the first time. He tried not to gasp.

The man still had his big build, but his face was gaunt and tired. There were rings under his eyes and his irises were much greyer than Stiles remembered. His hair hung limp and dishevelled and his face was rife with stubble and untrimmed whiskers. He leaned slumped against the kitchen counter. He was wearing a faded grey T-shirt and flannel sweats and his feet were dirty. It was a far cry from the badass alpha with his ridiculously perfect hair and designer jeans and shit-hot leather jacket.

Derek looked simply _broken_.

It was surreal, sitting drinking coffee in the bowels of the burnt-out Hale House with a semi-feral Derek who had fucked off a year ago without any notice.

"Thanks," said Stiles, as he took a sip, and noticed that Derek had made it exactly as he liked it, black with two sugars.

"How did you know how I take my coffee? You didn't ask."

"I pay attention. Your interactions with Scott."

"Stalker," said Stiles, and Derek snorted, but not in a mean way.

"You still haven't told me why you came here," said Derek.

"I asked you first."

"Ok," said the werewolf, and it struck Stiles that they were having probably the first civil conversation they'd had since forever, certainly one that didn't end up with Derek doing something physically painful to the younger man.

"I don't really know," he said quietly. "I tried a couple of jobs in Sacramento... mainly waitering, and some construction work, was thinking of saving up some money to go to university..."

"But you went to university after school. I heard you got a scholarship to New York."

"Yeah."

"What did you study?"

"Psychology. NYU."

Stiles nearly snorted hot coffee up his nose. "Derek Hale, a psychologist?"

Derek looked hurt.

"Sorry... I've gone and put my foot in it again. You were saying?"

"It doesn't matter. That fucked out when Laura died, I had to come back to Beacon Hills."

"You didn't finish?"

"No, Stiles, and it's not relevant anyway," he sighed. Stiles looked at the floor, aware that he had touched a nerve.

"Um. So. You came back to Beacon Hills."

"Yeah. Cora and I still own the property. She's gotten into architecture school in LA, and I don't really like large cities. So I thought I'd put a few things in order, there's still stuff here... that escaped the fire... and I was thinking, perhaps I should sell the land, it's worth a lot..."

His voice had trailed off into a whisper. Stiles didn't need werewolf senses to pick up that Derek was just managing to stave off a small breakdown. The younger man had a sudden overwhelming urge to grab one of Derek's big hands and squeeze them, but didn't know whether that would end up with Derek biting Stiles's arm off.

"You shouldn't have to do that. It's been in your family for generations; my dad told me. There are memories here... I mean," he babbled, "not just bad ones, and maybe... I dunno... you could restore the house? Build a new one? Develop some of the land and make some income? This place is kinda special to me too, you know..."

"To you?"

"Well, yeah. It's where the whole adventure began. You know, for me and Scott. That's why I came here. Uh, to sort of say goodbye. This is my last summer before I leave for college. Shitstorms or not, this forest has played an important part in my life."

Derek listened, surprised. "I thought... I mean, hasn't all this complicated your life?"

"Well, duh, but look what it's done for Scott. And he's my best friend. We're closer than ever. Even you... you taught him... us... a lot."

Derek snorted. "So, how is Scott... how's the pack?"

"Doing awesome. He's really a great Alpha. The pack's – well, kinda blossomed under his guidance. We're basically one big fur-fan club. Guess we've been spared supernatural shenanigans for a while. I mean, I graduated from high school without any psycho killer creatures ripping my graduation gown or possessing my soul during my chemistry final. I'd call that a success."

Derek nodded, and looked sad. "I'm glad someone... is doing a much better job."

Stiles wished he could swallow his earlier ode to Scott because he could see the sadness in Derek's face.

"Dude, you did good. You did the best you could."

"I don't know about that," said Derek bitterly, and looked away.

Several uncomfortable moments passed while Stiles bit his lip and Derek nursed the dregs of his coffee.

"So, um... I was thinking," said Stiles suddenly, "I was on my way to get a milkshake... you could come with me, maybe get something to eat? You look like you need something to eat and it doesn't seem there's any food in your house and Tate's doing the most awesome guacamole and cheese burger that would totally fill a werewolf belly and..."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I've got supper sorted."

"How? You ordering pizza?"

Derek shook his head, and gazed out the window to the forest.

"Huh? Oh no. Gross! You're seriously going to grab a bunny?"

For the first time, a small vestige of a smile curled in the corners of Derek's mouth and then disappeared a second after.

"Um. Well. I guess... I guess I better go, it's already dark and you know how my father always worries."

Derek just nodded.

"So. Bye then. Thanks for the coffee. So, like, am I going to see you again?"

Derek got up and walked towards Stiles. He swore he was sniffing the air around him. "That depends, do you want to see me again?"

A flash of anger coursed through Stiles.

"How can you ask me that?" he said, his tone cool and bitter. Derek took a step back. "You disappear again, don't tell us what's happening, freak Scott out? I'm not just taking this half-assed explanation why you came back... why did you leave, Derek?"

"You're angry," he said, looking away.

"Of course I'm fucking angry," said Stiles, "and I'm not afraid of you, Mr Big Bad Wolf. You hurt Scott. And Isaac. And..."

He didn't say " _me"_ , and Derek's whimper disarmed him.

"Maybe we should take a time-out and talk about this later," Stiles sighed. "If  _you_ want to. Stilinski door open."

"Maybe."

"Let me know. You do still have a functioning cellphone?"

"Yeah. Same."

"I can pick you up."

"You don't have to pick me up."

"What are you going to do, wolf out and gallop to my place?"

"Yes. And snack on a squirrel on the way. No, Stiles, I like walking."

"Suit yourself," said Stiles, and stifled a smile.

Derek nodded again, and Stiles felt a little lighter. 

He made a waving gesture and turned on his heel, not quite sure what to say. "Till later then," he said, walking out.

"Wait — Stiles?"

The younger man paused by the door. "Yeah?"

"Don't tell Scott I'm back. Not yet. I should tell him face-to-face."

"Ok."

"And Stiles?"

"Yes?" he said, a little exasperated, as if Derek were a little six-year old intent on asking questions.

"Get into bed. I think you're coming down with a cold."

Stiles shook his head and bounded out the house. Damn Derek Hale and his super werewolf senses and stupid tragic life. _And it's all happening again, Stiles_.

And who asked for it?

_You did, Stilinski, you did._

_You just can't keep yourself away from the wolves._

 


	5. Frenemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles literally walks into his past.

As Stiles drove home he seriously wondered if Lydia had spiked the drinks again, with LSD this time. Meeting Derek in the Hale house was freaky. Having a civil conversation with the werewolf –over _coffee_ – was a surreal mindfuck.

Yet the most prominent image replaying itself in his mind was Derek looking so dejected and miserable.

Stiles kept thinking of how soft his voice had been, how his eyes had shone, as if Derek had been _crying_ or something.

Lightning scissored across the sky. Soon a downpour had spread itself all across Beacon Hills. The raindrops were huge, tropical even; it reminded Stiles of the time he went walking in a rainforest in Thailand with his parents. He had been eleven years old, and his mother was in remission after the mastectomy and chemotherapy. The Sheriff had taken his family on holiday halfway across the globe to celebrate her return to health.

The cancer returned a year later.

Stiles thought of how that forest on Koh Samui smelled of salt and jasmine and moss; how the forests of California smelled different: smokier and older. _How Derek smelled of forests, too, of clean sweat and wet earth and pine needles... How the hell did he know that?_

He didn't notice the branch lying in the road until the very last moment. He slammed on the brakes and the Jeep screeched sickeningly as it skidded across the road, stopping inches before a twelve-foot ravine.

"Fuck."

A wave of nausea passed over him as he realized how very nearly he could have been toast.

He got out gingerly and checked his baby to see if there was any damage. He was about to pronounce her free of injuries when he spotted the burst front tyre on the passenger side.

" _Aaaaaand_ fuck again," he groaned. Fuming, he resigned himself to changing the tyre in the rain.

It took a couple of tries, a bruised thumb and a cursory tour of most of the expletives in the English language, but Stiles eventually managed to change the tyre without causing himself and the Jeep too much physical (and psychological trauma.) He had, of course, been too proud to call his father or the AAA. He would have congratulated himself, but he was soaked and sore and tired and hungry. Still shocked from the accident, he drove at a glacial pace until he finally pulled up in front of his house.

He was drenched and shivering as he opened the door.

"What happened to you, son?" asked the Sheriff, raising an eyebrow.

"Flat tyre on the way back from... from Lydia's," he said quickly. He couldn't just blurt out the whole Derek revelation without sitting his father down and reassuring him that there hadn't been another shitstorm with a pile of dead bodies in the woods or something.

"You should have called me," the Sheriff said, looking very concerned. "I was worried about you driving in this weather."

"You taught me well, Dad," said Stiles with a tired smile, "it was just a tyre. I need to go collapse now, though."

"You don't look well," said his father, and walked up to him to put his hand on his son's forehead. "I'm right. You're burning up."

The tickle in the back of Stiles's throat confirmed what Derek had said. How could werewolves smell _cold virus_? He _was_ getting sick, and the little adventure in the rain wouldn't have helped either.

"Get into some dry clothes and into bed," said the Sheriff. "I'll bring you something to eat. I can cancel my shift tomorrow and..."

"It's just a cold, Dad."

"Yes, and with your luck you'll end up with pneumonia if you don't look after yourself. I'm phoning Melissa tomorrow and telling her you won't be able to do your shifts until you're feeling better."

"Okay, Dad. But really, I’ll be fine."

The sheriff nodded and hugged his son. "Just look after yourself, okay? I have to be out early; but there's tons of food in the fridge. Can I make you a bacon sandwich while you take a hot bath or something?"

Stiles wanted to protest, but he was starting to feel shittier by the moment. He decided to take his father’s advice and get an early night.

Half an hour later, belly full and warm and dry, he curled himself up into the fetal position and drifted off to sleep.

 

 

*

 

The dream came again that night, the first time in years. Stiles had nearly forgotten the sting of the snow on his body, the warm hands of the one who was carrying him through the storm. The smell of the beast's breath, inches behind them, bright drops of blood melting into the white. And still, whenever he craned his neck up to see his rescuer, he couldn’t make out the face.

He sat up, body rigid, breath caught in deep inhalation. He blinked, trying to shake off the dream. It had been so long, yet the nightmare was as familiar as an old scar. It was cold. He noticed his window was wide open and an unseasonal chill was streaming in from outside.

His whole body ached and it felt like he had swallowed a bunch of thorns. Yet the pain was almost welcome, it was _ordinary_ , not portending anything other than a couple of days' subservience to painkillers and drug-laced sleep. Before werewolves, before constantly being shoved against walls or hit against steering wheels or tortured by maniacal hunters, this had been probably the acme of discomfort in Stiles's life, aside from falling on his face on the lacrosse field. When his mom was still alive, being sick had almost been worth it, because she'd fuss over him and make him soup and bring him jello swimming in custard the way he liked it.

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was just past three in the morning. The time of witches' sabbaths, he thought, diametrically opposite three in the afternoon, because Jesus' crucifixion was supposedly at that time. He had yet to meet witches, and wondered if every mythological creature actually existed.

Stiles got up to close the window and then remembered he had some flu medication in his cupboard, cursing himself for not taking some earlier. He decided to take twice the recommended dose, hoping it would knock him out to the point that there wouldn't be any more dreams.

He was out within minutes.

 

 

*

 

It was late in the morning when Stiles finally woke up. He felt like his brain had been doused in brandy and flambéed, but his body no longer ached that much and the sore throat was abating.

He stared quizzically at his window and noticed it was closed again.

Then he saw the leather jacket hanging over his desk chair. A very familiar black leather jacket.

"If this is another dream," he said out loud, but forced himself to get up because he needed to pee desperately and take a glug of water.

He shuffled out of his room and walked straight into the muscled wall of Derek Hale.

"Holy fuck! Derek?!"

"Good morning to you too," Derek said flatly. He was holding a cup of tea.

_Tea._

"I thought I'd let you sleep for a bit, but, um, anyway. Drink this."

Stiles nodded dumbly, finding his tongue momentarily out of service.

"Ah... ah..." he managed, "I'm just going to... er... right... bathroom..."

Derek nodded, and sat himself down at Stiles's desk like he owned the place.

After peeing what felt like a gallon and resisting the urge to slam his head against the wall several times Stiles conceded he was very much awake, because he was sour with sweat and looked like an extra from _Night of the Living Dead_. He decided to get into the shower. A nice loooooong shower that could maybe wash his shock and astonishment away and make him feel a tad more human. And, perhaps, presentable, to the fucking werewolf in his room.

He stayed under the hot stream for as long as he could, using nearly half a bottle of shower gel, and then walked gingerly back to his room, covering himself with the largest towel he could find.

And, yes, Derek was still there. In fact, he had taken off his sneakers and propped up his socked feet on Stiles's desk, reading a graphic novel.

"You smell better," said Derek, not looking up.

"Um, thanks," said Stiles, scratching around in his cupboard and desperately figuring out how he was not going to be naked in front of Derek Hale.

"Uh... Derek...?"

"Mm."

"I kind of have to... you know... put on clothes..."

Derek just huffed. "So go ahead. I have... I had... a brother. And I did play sports and go to gym, so I'm used to locker rooms."

Stiles bit his lip and tried to pull on his boxer briefs as quickly as he could, swearing under his breath as all modesty flew out of the window when the towel decided at that very moment to drop to his ankles.

"You've filled out nicely," said Derek on cue like the kinky stalker he was. "You must be working out."

Stiles tried very hard not to freak out as he managed to pull on a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt.

"Drink your tea, it's getting cold," Derek continued, flicking a page.

Stiles downed the tea in a rapid series of gulps and man, it was a good cup of tea. So this is what the English were talking about when they said that a good old cuppa could cure everything.

As Stiles's belly warmed he stared at Derek. He was looking decidedly civilized. His hair was back to its ridiculously-styled perfection. He had on a clean pair of jeans and a light blue Henley. He'd even shaved and now looked like he was barely out of high school.

Fuck it, Stiles thought, there the asshole goes again, looking fucking perfect.

"Okay, okay," said Stiles, waving his arms about and getting his chattery squirrel voice back, "what the fuck is this? You just sneaked into my house while I'm sick and make me a cup of tea like we're co-habiting or something?"

"Not like I haven't snuck into your room before," said Derek.

"Yes, but last time you were threatening to rip me into pieces instead of making me tea."

"Would you _like_ me to rip you into pieces instead?"

"No... wait... I mean, thank you for the tea. And the coffee yesterday, which was really good. I'm beginning to feel like you're my personal barista or something."

"I used to work at Starbucks when I was a student in New York."

Stiles brain did a double-take as he imagined Derek wearing an apron. He couldn't stifle the thought that the werewolf must have charmed loads of tips out of patrons with that stupidly handsome face of his.

"Right," said Stiles. "So. Wait now. I'm still kind of stuck on yesterday. Like as in, not hearing from you in over a fucking year and now we're catching up like housewives at some friggin' wine bar?!"

Derek put down the graphic novel carefully and fixed his gaze on the younger man. "Okay, I guess I owe you an explanation. I wanted to check on you. Like I said, I could smell you were getting ill, and I was right."

Stiles couldn't help himself. "Derek Hale, you care? This... and yesterday... are the longest conversations I've had with you that didn't involve at least one of us being in mortal danger or wanting to kill each other. Who are you and what did you do to the Big Bad Sourwolf? Wait. I know. You're possessed or bewitched or something. You pissed off some faerie and they..."

"Shut up Stiles. Jesus, I nearly forgot how much you can talk. So sue me if I wanted to check if you were okay."

"Well, I guess..." Stiles said and exhaled deeply, "thank you... that's very nice of you, taking time out from whatever you're doing, werewolf-lurking in the forest and writing existential werewolf poetry and wait now does anybody else even know you're back in Beacon Hills?"

"No."

"So, what, you were just going to sit there in your old house and play the lead role in _Phantom_ of the Forest _Opera_ or something? I mean, not that your face is scarred or you need a mask because you do that healing thing or have to start singing 'The Music Of The Night' because –"

"Stiles. I get the reference. I've seen _Phantom_ , you know. And _Cats_. And _Les Misérables_. Not that that matters. To be honest I didn't know whether I was just going to sort out all the stuff and go, but then you came to my house."

"Wait. Before I parse the thought of you seeing musicals... which is making my brain explode... seriously? You were planning to just fuck off and leave again? And go where then? Antarctica?"

Derek must have sensed Stiles's irritation because he clenched his jaw.

"It wasn't like that. I figured... maybe it was better, you know. Just let things be. Peter's dead, the Alpha pack is a thing of the past, Scott seems in charge of things and I didn't want to complicate matters..."

Stiles closed his eyes tight with frustration. "Complicate things?" his voice suddenly shrill. "I understand if you wanted a change of scenery, but... you thought you were being a liability? Is that why you left, because you didn't feel like you were important? And hey, you could at least have said goodbye this time too!"

"I..."

"No. Fuck you and your fucking werewolf psychodrama. You don't get off so easily. I thought you guys were all about pack and bonding and being there for each other. I mean, even I, who's human and hardly matter or have any clout..."

In one fluid motion Derek got up and grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and locked his gaze angrily on the younger man's eyes.

"You _always_ matter, Stiles. You always have."

Stiles just stared at him.

"Stop...stop deflecting!" Stiles managed eventually. "When you were Alpha..."

Derek's eyes flashed blue.

"Stiles. You. Always. Mattered."

Stiles gulped. The werewolf grunted and sat down on the bed next to the brunet. Awkwardness reigned for nearly a minute.

"Okay, okay. I get that," Stiles said eventually. "Is this a belated thank you for not letting you drown that time in the pool?"

Derek huffed, but looked half-amused.

"Maybe," said the werewolf. "And I'm sorry I didn't trust you then."

"Yeah. Very logical reasoning, dickwad, why the hell would I hold you up for three fucking hours only to decide screw this and let you drown? Do you know how sore my lats and shoulders were after that? Well you wouldn't, because you've been able to bench-press a cow since you were out of diapers."

"I bet your lats wouldn't complain half as much _now_ ," said Derek, tapping Stiles's side. "What's been going on there?"

"You pervert," said Stiles, trying hard to suppress a smirk. They were back to the old banter now, minus the violence. "For the record, Isaac dragged my scrawny ass off to gym when Finstock threatened to take me off first line for looking too skeletal. And, hey, protein. Isn't that just the coolest thing in the world? I realised I just had to start eating like a werewolf."

"It's a good look on you, Stiles."

"Why thank you, Coco Chanel."

Derek snorted, but with a definite glint in his eye.

"So what now, prodigal wolf?"

"I don't know."

"Well," Stiles hedged, because the thought of Derek leaving suddenly made him feel oddly uncomfortable, "maybe I can help you sort stuff out in your house. I'm good at stuff like that. Like, what needs doing?"

"Lots of things. Clothes. Books. Throwing away junk. Seeing what other stuff could be salvaged from..."

"From the fire," said Stiles knowingly. "That's cool. When my mom died my aunt and I had to go through my mom's things because my dad couldn't. I can handle stuff like that, I discovered. It kind of... gave me some closure if you know what I mean. Maybe it will do that for you too, and I can totally do the sorting and you can sit and direct things."

"So... you'd do that for me?"

"I just said so, you idiot."

"Okay, but why? It's not like you owe me or anything".

Damn you, Derek Martyr Hale, thought Stiles. Can you not just accept a favour? _I guess not. You haven't been afforded many_.

Stiles decided to cover with his best defense – humour.

"Why not? I mean now that I've discovered you can talk complex sentences anything goes."

"Yeah, like maybe you could become monosyllabic in turn."

"Touché, Big Bad, touché. So. Closure."

"Yeah. I always assumed Laura was always going to tie everything up, but she never got the chance."

Stiles nodded. "I get it. But wait now. It kind of freaks me out that you're living in a disaster zone... I mean, again."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Well, let me think. Burnt-down house, then the creepy disused railway car, and then a loft straight out of Communist 1970s Prague. And eventually back to the burnt-down house. Please don't tell me you were living under a bridge in Sacramento."

"And eating sewer rats," Derek deadpanned.

"That's just _gross_ , Hale. What I mean is, why don't you stay here?"

"What, with you?"

"Yes, here, at Chez Stilinski. We have a guest room. With an actual bed with linen and electricity and a real live bathroom with plumbing. You know what plumbing is, I hope?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Why would I need plumbing when I can go in the woods?"

"You are kidding, right?"

Derek stared at him for a moment and then let out a brief chuckle. "What I meant was... your offer is very kind, but surely your dad..."

"...is off for a week's conference tomorrow and I could use some company while you get your wolfy ass re-civilized. Win-win situation. I'm working morning shifts at the hospital this week but the afternoons are free and we can totally get to work on your house."

"Wouldn't you rather hang out with Scott and the rest of the... pack...?"

Derek winced slightly as he said "pack".

"There's still a whole summer ahead. One week isn't a big deal. You make it sound like I'm sacrificing something. I offered, dude. Besides, you could help me and give me the heads up for surviving freshman year. Who knows, I might even teach you PS3."

"We had a PlayStation in New York, you know. My flatmates were gamers."

"You're like a fucking onion!" Stiles sighed, shaking his head.

"Onion?"

"So many layers!. Derek Hale. Not just a grumpy werewolf, but well-versed in literature, pop culture and seemingly capable of brief moments of humor. NYU trained in psychology. I either took the blue pill or Hell must definitely be under a blanket of snow."

Derek was now laughing, openly, and blushing a little. Stiles jaw dropped, disarmed to see Derek look completely at ease and... happy. He'd never seen Derek look simply happy, even for just a moment.

Without thinking, Stiles put his arm around Derek's shoulder for a second, then recoiled and snapped his arm back. It was a complete flop of a bro hug, unlike what Scott and Stiles did automatically – a simple, sweet gesture that meant _you are my brother and my best friend and I am always there for you_.

"What... what's the catch?" said Derek, trying to ignore what had just happened.

"Ah, that," said Stiles mischievously, now that he had recovered. "Planning your audience with the pack and giving Scott that long overdue conversation about where the hell the pack dynamics stand now. Because whoever’s alpha or beta or not, you are the person with the most experience of all these things and did you forget you are the only born werewolf in our camp who we trust. Scott still looks up to you, know."

"It's going to be awkward."

"Oh yes it is. But you don't have to cut what you can't untie, and I'll be a total Switzerland between you and them because I'm Stiles The Awesome."

Derek just couldn't any more.

"I still don't get it."

"Get what?

"Stiles! _Why are you being so goddamned nice to me?_ "

"Because," Stiles said in a frustrated low hiss, "I don't actually _hate you_ and we've been through some weird fucking shit together and we were there for each other! All of us! Have you ever heard of _Ba_ _nd of Brothers_?"

"The World War II series directed by Tom Hanks?"

"Oh my god, you watch television as well as Broadway shows. Yes, as in brothers-in-arms. Do you get what I'm trying to say, dude, we have each other's backs... we always had each other's backs... I'm tired of this childish frenemy crap, okay? I don’t know what it is, you being back suddenly, but, perhaps... perhaps I want to get to know Derek Hale. Perhaps I don't want him becoming a listless omega. Who knows, maybe he could stop being the Tom to my Jerry and actually be a friend. My big scary werewolf friend. _Friend_ , Derek. Fucking. Deal. With. It."

Derek gazed at the floor. "You're not going to take no for an answer, are you."

"Nope," said Stiles triumphantly. "And, friend-in-training, you could totally go get me another cup of tea. And some Tylenol."

"Very well. But you're getting back into bed until you smell completely healthy."

"Okay, I'm dying of curiosity. Do different diseases have different, like, flavours?"

"Some," said Derek nonchalantly. "But it works better with people whose scent I already know."

"What do I smell like?"

"Yesterday, like vinegar. But that was the cold. Right now, you're back to what you usually smell like."

Stiles's heartbeat doubled.

"Which is..."

"The ocean," Derek said quietly. "And hints of um, lemon and lime. And mint."

Stiles's actually felt his face folding into five different forms of incredulity.

"You make it sound like I'm a Mojito ready for drinking on a beach."

"Nothing wrong with that," said Derek, who promptly walked off to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all un-beta'd... and was sort of written in airport lounges and restaurants all over Europe with loads of beer, so it may very well be all sorts of surreal... so let me know what you think!!!


	6. Margaret Thatcher and the Laundry of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was almost as Scott had been over for a bro day; that's how comfortable he'd felt with Derek around. He still hadn't ruled out possession, but if that were the case, he definitely wasn't going to be looking for an exorcist.

Derek appeared a few minutes later with a whole _pot_ of tea set out on a tray with two cups, and a large ham and cheese sandwich which he handed to Stiles.

"Well, aren't you domesticated," said Stiles, trying not to giggle at the absurd combination of badass werewolf + porcelain teapot.

Derek shrugged and poured the tea.

"Good sandwich," said Stiles between greedy mouthfuls. 

"Thanks. I figured you must be hungry. One's always hungry after battling a fever."

Stiles swore Derek was _fussing_ over him. 

"What, werewolves get sick?" 

"Sometimes. There are a few viruses that can affect us. But I had human siblings too. My little sister and older brother were human. Sarah used to get middle-ear infections all the time. I could take the pain away, but not the high temperature."

"That's so cute," said Stiles. "You being big brother."

Derek nodded and looked away. "You know, it's easy, really, when someone's scared and sick. Sometimes they just need touch.” He took a deep breath and dropped his voice by an octave. “We all need touch,” he said, as if to himself. “It's not just a wolf thing.”

Without thinking, Stiles he grabbed the werewolf's wrist.

"I'm sorry, dude. It must be hard. I mean, I _know_ it's hard."

"Yeah," Derek said, still staring into the middle distance. "Your mom. I suppose you're one of the few people who understand."

"Listen... dude... if you'd ever want to talk... I'm actually a good listener when I'm not babbling away at Mach 1... I found it helps to talk and my dad _never_ talks..."

"Thanks," the werewolf said with a weak smile. "Maybe I’ll take you up on that. Even if only to see if you can be quiet for longer than five minutes."

Stiles gave Derek a shit-eating grin and let go of Derek. "So... do you want to hang out? Maybe play PS3 or watch a DVD or something? I've pretty much got nothing to do until my dad comes home tonight; Scott was going to come over but he and Allison have gone away to the coast for two days –how Chris Argent let them I don't know– so I'm kind of at a loose end."

"Once you’ve rested some more. But that'd be nice. Do you have _Half-Life?_ "

"I'm impressed. Old school! Dude, you're looking at the king of _Half-Life_. Scott doesn't like it, so I haven't played it in a while. I have all the expansion packs too including _Decay_ with the two hot babes. You played that one?"

"Nope." 

"I'm going to cream your little werewolf ass."

"We'll see, Stilinski, we'll see. After you’ve rested."

After three rounds Stiles had to concede with some horror that Fangface was quite adept with a gaming console. He wondered if Derek had been like any other young guy when he was at NYU, hanging out with friends, dating, partying, getting drunk... okay, maybe not getting drunk but drinking along with everybody else anyway. Or had he been gloomy and tragic since the fire? Whatever had transpired, Laura's murder must have frozen any remaining happiness in his soul, and Stiles wondered if it would ever thaw completely. 

But _something_ had thawed today.

They spent the rest of the day chilling like two old friends. They ordered pizza and watched _Labyrinth_ and the original Japanese version of _The Ring;_ Stiles confessing that he'd never had the courage to watch it alone in the dark, much to Derek's mirth. 

Stiles found his eyes getting heavy as the late afternoon sun was streaming through the den's bay windows and gazed lazily at Derek curled up on the couch opposite him absorbed in the graphic novel he'd been reading earlier. Soon he nodded off.

It was dark when he woke up to the sound of his father entering the front door. True to form, he was starfished on the couch and had drooled on the cushion. 

There was no sign of Derek.

"Hello son," said his father. "Two pizzas?" he asked, noticing the empty boxes on the counter.

Stiles heaved a sigh of relief that he and Derek had done the dishes, or there would have been a lot to answer for, what with tea trays set for two and all.

"Oh, hi, Dad, I was hungry." 

"Evidently," said the Sheriff, patting his son's head. "Good to see you're feeling better. You still want to stay in bed tomorrow?" 

"Nah, I'm sure I'll be fine for work; I'll let Scott's mom know."

"Fine. I'm going to miss you this week, my boy. Let's at least have an early breakfast tomorrow morning before I go?"

"Of course, Dad." 

They warmed up some macaroni (low fat cheese, of course) from the night before and  sat watching TV for a while. In spite of the long nap Stiles was starting to feel sleepy again, so he said goodnight to his dad and got himself ready for bed.

He hadn't heard anything from Derek, but he decided to send him a text anyway. He'd seen Derek had a phone on him earlier and wondered if he got any calls at all.

 

From Stiles:

To: Derek

_You up? And hopefully, still extant in this universe?_

He went to brush his teeth and change into sleep shorts and an old T-shirt, and when he walked back into his room he noticed that there was still no reply. Stiles proceeded to curl up into bed and finish _A Passage To India_ which had less than fifty pages to go. Twenty minutes later, he had finished the book, and was about to turn out the light when his phone beeped with a text from Derek.

"Of course a creeper wolf will wait to send creeper texts after midnight," he muttered to himself.

 

From: Derek

To: Stiles

_Hi. I didn't want to wake you earlier, so I let myself out. Thanks for a nice afternoon._

 

Stiles:

_You're welcome. You at the house?_

 

Derek:

_Yes. Walked home._

 

Stiles:

_How very Spartan. So are you coming to stay tomorrow?_

 

Derek:

_If that is still okay. Like I said, I don't want to impose._

 

Stiles:

_Of course it's fine. Bad enough that you still have to spend one night among the ruins. But we're going to have to tell the others that you're back. I''m getting everyone over as soon as Scott is back. I'm not hiding werewolf stowaways forever on the SS Stilinski._

 

Derek:

_Fine. What time does your hospital shift end?_

 

Stiles:

_1 pm. But I'll meet you at your house, so we can plan the house-sorting thing and get your stuff and then we'll go to my place._

 

Derek:

_Thanks, I appreciate that._

 

Stiles:

_No problemo. Goodnight Big Bad._

 

Derek:

_Goodnight Little Red. :)_

 

Stiles:

_!!! Okay I totally walked into that one. And since when the hell do you use emoticons?_

 

Derek:

_Shut up. Sleep well._

 

Stiles:

_Night. You too._

 

 

 

 

_*_

 

As Stiles drifted off, he kept thinking that it was almost as Scott had been over for a bro day; that's how comfortable he'd felt with Derek around. He still hadn't ruled out possession, but if that were the case, he definitely wasn't going to be looking for an exorcist. 

He slept soundly and woke up early to have breakfast with his dad and see him off.  He was cheerful as he reported to Melissa McCall for duty. Mercifully, he'd been spared cleaning duty (gross) and instead took turns ferrying samples to the pathology ward (morbidly fascinating) and helping out at the admissions desk (boring). 

He was busy folding away some linen at the back of the casualty when Melissa came up to him.

"Would you like to do something more interesting than folding hospital gowns, Stiles?" she said, smiling at her de-facto other son.

"Sure."

"Dr Kovic has said you could shadow him around the emergency room while he sees some patients."

"Wow... that would be awesome." 

"Well, go put on some clean scrubs and meet him in the front examination room."

Stiles was excited, and a little scared. He was quite used to dealing with werewolf gore but seeing humans who couldn't heal themselves _de novo_ was going to be different.  

It wasn't too bad an initiation into real live medicine, though. Dr Kovic was a sweet old man with Harry Potter glasses and a gentle, patient bedside manner. Stiles saw a sprained ankle, a migraine, helped put up an IV on a student with alcohol poisoning and even got to assist with putting in sutures on a guy's hand (the victim of an over-enthusiastic bout of amateur DIY.) Okay, all he did was cut the sutures, but it still felt awesome being involved. And, hey, no fainting. 

Then the little girl was brought in. Her cheeks were flushed and her golden curls plastered across her forehead. She was crying softly as her desperate mother held her tightly. The woman looked gaunt and exhausted. 

"Please help me," she said, as Dr Kovic led her to the examination cubicle and motioned to Melissa to come assist. Stiles hovered around, uncertain whether he should leave or ask to help.  

"What's seems to be the trouble?" said the doctor gently.

"She's been vomiting since this morning," said the girl's mother. "And now she can't keep anything down, not even water." 

"104," said Melissa as she took the toddler's temperature while Dr Kovic examined her.

"She's about 5% dehydrated," said Dr Kovic calmly. "Looks like gastroenteritis. No major danger yet but to avoid that I'm going to have to put up an IV and admit her for rehydration."

At this point the little girl started whining softly and her mother burst into tears.

"She's never... never been this ill before," the woman sobbed, "I don't know what to do."

"Don't worry," said Melissa gently. "We're going to take good care of her. I'm going to ask you to hold her while I take some blood and we put up an IV. 

"Please," said the woman. "I can't... " 

"It's all right," said Stiles out of the blue, and walked towards the woman. "Give her to me. I'll hold her." 

The woman stared at him for a moment but then nodded. 

"I promise she'll be safe with us," Stiles continued. "It's totally fine if you want to wait outside. She's your baby... you don't want to see her get hurt." 

Melissa and Dr Kovic looked at each other as the mother carefully handed her daughter over to the young man. 

Stiles had babysat his little cousins before, but right now it was as if all the paternal genes in his Y chromosomes uncoiled themselves simultaneously,  because he cradled the little girl to his chest as if she were his own. 

"Hey there sweetie," he said, rocking her and stroking her hair. "What's your name? I'm Stiles." 

"Sophie," said her mother. 

"Hello Sophie," said Stiles. "Aren't you a beautiful princess? Come, let's get you better."

He winked at the mother who looked flush with relief, and motioned her to wait outside. Sophie had stopped crying and looked with fascination at the young man, reaching up to pull at the spitcurl that dangled on his forehead. 

"I'm impressed," said Dr Kovic. "You distract her while I do the IV." 

Stiles sat down and fussed and cooed over Sophie while Melissa immobilised her with a blanket. Dr Kovic was a pro and found a vein on her hand, getting the needle in on the first try. Sophie yelped, but quickly yielded to Stiles’s touch again. 

"That was pretty amazing, Stiles," said Melissa. "You really have a way with children."

"It's just the standard Stilinski awesomeness," he deadpanned, and Melissa chuckled as she took Sophie from him and settled her on the bed.  

"Whatever it is," said Dr Kovic, "I think you'll make a great doctor one day. And a great father, too."

Stiles blushed, and suddenly was in desperate need of a Slushie.

Damn you Derek, you were right about the touch thing.

  

 

 

*

  

Derek was sitting on the steps of the Hale house when Stiles pulled up in his driveway. The older man had his eyes closed and was tapping his feet rhythmically. 

"Oh my God,” said Stiles as he got out. “Is that an iPod?"

Derek nodded and pulled out his earphones. "Hello to you too, Stilinski. I like music, you know."

"So what are you listening to? _Bad Moon Rising_? _How Much Is That Doggie In The Window_?"

Derek bared human teeth at him. "You're an asshole. I was listening to Dvorak, actually. The _New World Symphony_."  

"Sorry. I just thought you were more of a hard rock or death metal kind of guy."

"I may have been raised by wolves, but I was raised by civilized wolves. I grew up with classical music. And books. Lots of books."

"I figured, actually. I never thought you were totally badass anyway." 

"Oh really," said Derek, and got up, involuntarily straightening The Jacket of Broodiness. "What makes you say that?" 

"Because you always wear sneakers instead of boots," said Stiles, pointing at Derek's pair of black Adidas. 

"They're vintage."  

"You are _so_ a closet hipster wolf," said Stiles, chuckling. "But they totally suit you, by the way. I'm more a Converse kind of guy, but still..."

"Whatever," said the werewolf, rolling his eyes.

"Well, shall we get started?" said Stiles. "I got some empty boxes from the hospital to pack things in. Where do we begin?"

"Um," said Derek, "I thought maybe the books in the study... sort out what's intact from what got burnt?"

"Sounds good," said Stiles. "Lead the way." 

It was hard work, picking out what was salvageable. Stiles almost wanted to cry when he saw a set of Asimovs practically burnt to a crisp.

"My brother's," said Derek, noticing Stiles staring at the carcasses of the books. "He loved sci-fi. I think you two would have gotten along. I'm more of a fantasy guy myself. I found these you might like though." 

He tossed a couple of books towards Stiles. His eyes popped when he saw they were by Philip K. Dick. _First Editions._  

Stiles whistled. "That is seriously impressive."

"You can have them," said Derek shrugging. "As a thank-you."

"Dude, you are officially my favourite person in the world right now," said Stiles. "Um. Anyway. So far I've sorted stuff into non-fiction and fiction, and then softcovers from hardcovers."

"That's great," said Derek, and promptly flung off his shirt. He was dripping with sweat and his body shone in the half-light. Stiles caught himself staring at the egregiously muscled torso and suddenly imagined what it might feel like running a hand up and down those perfect washboard abs. He clenched his teeth and was mortified to discover that his pants had suddenly become uncomfortably tight.  

"Something wrong?" said Derek, wiping his brow as he saw Stiles pulling down on his T-shirt.

"Oh, nothing," the younger man said in just slightly too high a voice as he looked away. _Think of Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day,_ he said to himself desperately. _Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day._

Derek nodded, but Stiles could have sworn he heard the werewolf snort. He turned around, and eventually the almost-party in his pants calmed down and he hoped desperately that Derek hadn't noticed anything with his super senses. Could they smell arousal? Oh God, they totally could, Scott had said so. And besides, his pulse was so doing at least over 100. _It's just curiosity,_ he said, trying to soothe himself. Who wouldn't find Derek Hale super hot if one got past the initial paralysing fear? And it's not like Stiles hadn't found guys attractive before. Hell, the guy was so open-minded his brains usually fell out all over the place. Most of his fantasies had been devoted to Lydia, Lydia, Scarlett Johannson and Lydia, but once in a while there had been Lydia, Lydia, Hugh Jackman and Lydia. Oh and maybe Danny once. After a couple of beers. 

But it was like he had suddenly _noticed_ for the first time in his life how smoulderingly _fuckable_ Derek looked, and that there was a freaking mass cyclone of butterflies in his stomach. And maybe other places too. 

Oh God, thought Stiles. I'm crushing on Derek. No, no, no, no, no. Could it be the Adderall interacting with the pseudoephedrine in the cold meds? Come to think of it, he hadn't needed his Adderall in a few days. Ok. So maybe it was the extra gorgonzola he had had on his pizza plus some pent-up Stiles hormones (he totally hadn't had any, ahem, gentleman's time to himself lately) conspiring with some werewolf pheromones Derek was sending out inadvertently. Yes, he thought. That was it. All that Derek-sweat. Totally too much were-testosterone flying around an enclosed space. Nobody would be immune to that. All that sweat on all that muscle. Mmm, he could totally lick that off Derek's abs...

_Margaret Thatcher..._

"You look tired," said Derek, which was ironic, because the werewolf himself looked out of breath after lugging the umpteenth box around the room. "Maybe take a break? There's soda in the cupboard in the kitchen. The fridge doesn't work so it's not ice-cold but..."

"Yeah! Totally!" said Stiles much too loudly and scurried out of the study. 

A few minutes later they were both sitting on the porch steps, staring at the woods in front of them.

"I never really noticed what a beautiful setting this place has," said Stiles when he was happy that his heartbeat was back within normal limits.  

Derek nodded. "All you can see from the bedroom windows are the tops of the trees. My great-grandfather built this house... he wanted a peaceful place where his family wouldn't be disturbed, yet close enough to civilization to not go feral. Best of both worlds, as it's supposed to be."

"Feral?"

"A werewolf is best when he's equally in balance with his humanity and his wolf. We need to be around others... not just other werewolves, but other humans."

"You're saying you need us mortal fragile hominids?" said Stiles, chuckling.

"More than you could know," said Derek quietly. "My father was half-human."

"I didn't know that. But I thought... if he was a Hale, he’d be a werewolf."

"Grandpa Hale was a werewolf, but my grandmother was human. My dad carried the gene but didn't manifest. My mom was a born Alpha, and three out of the five of us were wolf. It's um... co-dominance, I think, if I remember my genetics from biology."

Stiles was genuinely fascinated. "So how do you know a kid has the gene or not? Do were-babies wolf out when they have colic or start teething? And do they grow little fangs when they do that? Must be really horrible for the mom if she's breastfeeding..." 

Derek nearly choked on his soda. "It's _not_ like that, dumbass. It only starts showing up a year or two before puberty. That, and generally wolves don't get as sick as humans and are more... I guess, robust, though my big brother used to bully me all the time. Until one day we were wrestling and I slammed him onto the floor and bruised one of his ribs."

"Wow."

"I was ten and he was sixteen," Derek said with some pride. He sighed. "And then, a few weeks later I woke up bleeding because I'd grown claws in my sleep during a bad dream and scratched myself and there was black blood all over the sheets. I thought I was dying."

"Oh God," said Stiles. "That must have sucked. Usually boys have to contend with only one thing staining the sheets."

"Jesus, Stiles, do you ever think before you talk?" said Derek, looking mock horrified. 

"Sorry," said Stiles, turning peuce.

"It's fine. You're funny. Even if you do talk too much."

"You're totally enjoying seeing me embarrassed."

"Perhaps. I bet you're the one usually embarrassing Scott."

"Oh _shit_ yes. You should have seen his face when I explained the menstrual cycle to him the first time. Or what the Kama Sutra was."

"I can just imagine," said Derek, chuckling. 

"Well, um, shall we finish? It's getting late?"

"I think we've done enough for today," said Derek. "I'll get my things and we can maybe head off? Maybe I can buy you that milkshake you wanted to say thank you?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?" said Stiles, pursing his lips so that he looked like a dishevelled drag queen. _Oh Lord, if only he really did ask me out on a date._

"Shut up, Stiles," said Derek. 

  

 

 

*

  

They did get milkshakes on the way home. Stiles was amused that Derek liked strawberry. And burgers. Derek ordered _three_ double cheeseburgers and had scoffed half of them before they got to Stiles's house.

"What?" said Derek, licking his fingers clean as Stiles parked. "Did I mess on your upholstery? I mean, again? I'm sorry about that time I bled all over it."

"No, dude, I'm just always amazed how fast you guys eat. I thought _I_ was quick."

"Where do you think the verb 'to wolf down' comes from?" said Derek, showing his teeth. They were still human, but very bright, and rather frighteningly beautiful.

"Point taken,” said Stiles as he parked the Jeep. “Um, well, thanks for getting dinner."

"Hey Stiles," said Derek, grabbing Stiles by the shoulder. The younger man tried not to think how reassuringly strong the grip felt. "As long as I'm staying with you, I'm not freeloading. Tomorrow I'm going to the store and getting a week's worth of groceries. And filling up your car."

"Dude, that's not necessary... besides, didn't you say you were hard-up for cash?"

"I get by. There are some investments that will pay out soon... and I'm doing some freelance work online... yes I do have a laptop, stop looking so constantly surprised okay? I'm not letting a teenager have to be responsible for me."

"I'm eighteen." 

"Still."

"Sure, dude, whatever. One rule: in my house I have supreme authority over the remote control at all times."

"Noted."

"Ok, well, let's get you settled in," said Stiles as he got out of the car and walked towards the front door. "Guest room is upstairs opposite mine, and the bathroom is... well, you probably know where everything is, actually, having _snuck in uninvited through my window countless times_. This is the front door; it must be a brand new experience for you, so enjoy."  

Derek grunted, but looked amused as they walked into the house. 

"I'll take a shower if that's okay," the werewolf said, putting down his rucksack. "Oh, and do you mind if I do some laundry? Most of my stuff is dirty, I'm afraid... I packed light when I came back last week and I haven't gotten to a laundromat yet."

"Dirty? Oh, that's fine," squeaked Stiles. _You can so totally be dirty, I'll happily soap you up and rinse you... whoah!_ "Let's do a load now, follow me."

"Great," said Derek as Stiles showed him where the washing machine was and hauled out the detergent and fabric softener. _Derek Hale is staying in my house and he's doing his laundry oh my God are those Calvin Klein briefs?_

"May I use that towel?" said Derek, indicating the one that was folded up on the counter.

"Oh, yeah, sure, I was going to give you some anyway..."

"Great," said Derek, and promptly took off all his clothes and piled them with the rest of the laundry in the machine. He walked in all of his nude _magnificence_ to the counter and wrapped the towel around his waist.

_I'm going to faint. I'm totally going to faint. I thought Jackson and Danny were built and ok so is Scott but no gross he's my brother and all and hey Isaac isn't that bad looking since he got wolfed up but holy shit Derek fucking Greek Adonis Hale putting Michelangelo's David to shame is this the body that launched a thousand ships oh my God he's looking at me he's looking at me Margaret Thatcher Margaret Thatcher holy shit he makes doing laundry look like something out of the Kama Sutra..._

"Sorry," said Derek with a little smile. "I'm used to being on my own... and the last time I lived with others I was in a frat house and..."

"That's fiiiiine," said Stiles. "I mean, you just saw me in a towel yesterday. And maybe not in a towel too."

"I did indeed."

_Stilinski!_

"Because that's fine. That's totally fine. We're both guys and who have been in sports teams and go to gym and totally are used to changing rooms where guys are naked in front of each other often and would you like some coffee? Because I'd totally love a cup of coffee and you've been making me coffee and tea and it's time I returned the favour."

"Thanks, Stiles. Decaf if you have. Milk with two sugars. I'll go grab that shower."

"Sure! You do that!" said Stiles, and tried not to look at Derek in his skimpy towel running gracefully up the stairs like a panther.

Stiles made sure he made himself decaf too, because although he hadn't had any Adderall (how odd was that, he hadn't felt the need for a while now) he was not going to throw any more ingredients into the witches' brew that was his brain chemistry right now. 

He made the coffee and sat down in the den while he heard the shower running upstairs. Stiles exhaled deeply and fisted his hands in his hair, and was grateful it was not buzz-cut, because he totally needed to hold onto something at the moment. _Like Derek Hale._

 

 

 

*

 

It was a beautiful warm evening, so they sat on the back porch eating Stiles's trademark Space Omelettes, because however delicious they were he could never get them folded properly and they'd end up looking like the surface of an alien planet.

"So. A whole new chapter in your life looms," said Derek as they lay back in their chairs staring out at the garden. "Congrats on getting into Stanford. I always knew you'd do well."

"Thanks," said Stiles. "It's all very surreal."

"What made you decide on medicine?"

"Scott, actually. Seeing him work with animals. I kind of realised I'd been doing the same with the rest of Scott's pack. I'm totally an expert with first-aid now. Plus I've spent a lot of my life in hospitals, when I think of it."

"Your mom?"

"Yeah," said Stiles, blowing out his cheeks. "I felt I was living in hospital towards the end of her illness. Got so used to it."

"That must have been hard for you."

Stiles shrugged. "I learnt one thing. Just because people are dying, it doesn't mean they've stopped living. My mom had good days and bad days. She was very philosophical about it. She said she wasn't scared of death at all. She just hated the pain. But morphine's an amazing drug."

"She sounds like she was an amazing woman."

Stiles nodded with a little sad smile. "She was the most intelligent person I've ever known."

"Well, it's certainly rubbed off." 

"Why thank you, kind sir," the younger man said with a mock bow. "I try."

"I hope I'm not pressing any buttons," said Derek. "You know, about your mom and stuff."

"No," said Stiles. "Of course I miss her; I miss her every day. The hurt doesn't go away... I mean of all people you'd know that too. You just learn to cope with it better, I guess."

Derek nodded, and neither of them spoke for a while, but the silence was not uncomfortable.

"You _are_ an easy person to talk to," the werewolf said eventually, "when one can get a word in."

Stiles stuck his tongue out at Derek. "And you can be surprisingly talkative once you get going."

 

 

*

It took Stiles a long time to fall asleep when he and Derek decided to call it a night. Thoughts tumbled and writhed around in his brain like serpents. Less than 48 hours ago Derek had been a cipher to him. Now he was down the passage, snoring softly under his roof. The way they had chatted and bantered one would have sworn they'd been friends an entire lifetime. They'd learned a lot about each other in the space of a few hours, swopping fragments from their childhoods, confessing hopes and dreams, _bonding_.

He would hate to admit it, but the sudden intrusion of a 22 year-old werewolf into his life was filling a void he hadn't known existed. 

He was floating again, sweeping through the snow, gazing up at cold stars. There was ice in in his veins and blood on the ground. He reached out a hand, yearning for the moonlight to splash across the face of the one who was carrying him.

Then the trip, the fall, the horrid lurch in his stomach, fetid breath and snarling fangs snapping behind him. He felt himself skid across the frozen forest floor and connect with something hard. Pain convulsed through his body. In the distance, a voice calling, a voice he hadn't heard in years:

"Stiles!"

"Mom?!"

She was running towards him, arms outstretched, her hair billowing in the wind.

" _Mom!"_

He groaned as he forced himself back onto his feet, wobbly, spinning with vertigo. He stumbled towards the figure. He could almost touch her. 

And then, the dark shadow sprung up from behind, yanking her back. She screamed.

" _Mama! No!_ "

"Stiles."

" _Mommy!_ "

" _Stiles!_ Wake up! Wake up!"

He gasped, icy air rushing into his lungs, arms flailing, legs kicking. He felt a weight bear down on him, enveloping him, shaking him gently.

Stiles's eyes snapped open, and saw the contours of his room slowly spiral into view.

"It's okay, Stiles, it's okay," said a voice, a voice he knew well. There were strong arms around his chest, muscular legs wrapped around his own.

"What?" Stiles gasped. "What's going on?"

"Shh," said the voice again. "It was a dream. It was just a dream."

He felt Derek's hand gently stroking his hair; he felt warm breath on the nape of his neck. 

"Derek?"

The werewolf was _cuddling_ him.


	7. Freud and Lasagne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has dreams. Derek makes lasagne.

"It's okay," Derek said again. "It's okay. You're safe. You had a nightmare."

Stiles shifted, breathing heavily, and felt Derek's grip around him relax. He turned on his side to face him. 

"I'm... I'm sorry," Stiles croaked, his voice hoarse and cracking. 

There was enough light in the room for Stiles to see Derek's brow furrow. 

"What for?" Derek said softly.  

"W-waking you. This... this hasn't happened in a while."

"Don't be silly. Are you okay though? You were screaming."

Stiles was really embarrassed now, and was glad Derek couldn't see him blush in the darkness, though the wolf probably could sense the surge of blood to his cheeks. 

Stiles nodded. Derek's face was right up to his, their noses almost touching. "Well, this is... close," he said eventually.

Derek took in a sharp breath and sat up, running a hand through his hair.

"Um. I didn't mean to freak you out. I was just..."

"No that's totally fine dude, bro concerned about another bro," Stiles said, returning to babble mode as he surfaced from his post-nightmare stupor. It seemed to infect Derek, who was now nodding his head rapidly. "Scott would have done the same, I bet."

"Sure, that's what it was, of course."

"Plus wolfy concern for another in distress."

Stiles nearly said another _pack member._

"Yes. Another wolf... thing... it's what we _do_."

"At least you didn't lick me awake," Stiles said in a half-giggle. Yeah, how silly would that have been? Derek licking him. _Ha! ...if only...oh my why does that sound so hot? Shut up! Maggie, where are you?!_

Stiles could hear Derek trying to stifle a low chuckle. He turned serious again. "Do you want some water or something?"

Stiles shook his head. "I'm good, I'm good."

"You said this had happened before." 

"I used to dream a lot when I was younger," said Stiles, trying to make it sound like no big deal. "As you know I'm ADHD central just bursting with 1.21 gigawatts of Stilinski supercharge 24/7 . Maybe it was my brain's way of dealing with it. Cigar's just a cigar sometimes, isn't it? And I'm stressed out post-exams and thinking about college, and moving from home."

"Sure," said Derek, picking up that Stiles was trying to suppress something, but respecting it. "You know, no-one's sure if Freud actually said that."

"I didn't know that, but I love that quote. It's so him."

Stiles was grateful that banter had brought them back from their brief visit to Awkwardville. 

"I respect Freud," Derek said. "It's been so fashionable in psychology to be dismissive and critical of his theories, and yes, he was hung up on a lot of sexuality, but that's the price you pay for being a trailblazer."

"What's your take on it all? I mean, I know there are so many different schools of psychology; how was it at NYU?"

"That's the cool thing," the werewolf said, "about learning about it all. I guess I like the psychodynamic approach. It takes a long time and the individual must be willing to open themselves up to the process. I'm hardly a therapist, but, you could call me a Neo-Freudian. With a good sprinkling of Jung. Archetypes and the unconscious.. I like that."

"Of course you like that. I mean, _werewolf._ Man into wolf and Lycaon and St Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio and all their mythopoetic friends. But I could sure use Freud's _Interpretation of Dreams_ right now. It's his masterwork, isn't it?"

Derek chuckled. "Correct. I'm amazed at how well-read you are. Actually... I'm not." He spied the books on Stiles's nightstand. "I mean, look at, at this," he said, throwing his hands up, "is that E.M. Forster? _A Passage To India_ alongside a Spider-Man comic and... what's this... a history of the Falklands War and a physiology textbook?"

"Hey, I can't help it if I'm awesome and have a hungry brain. You're pretty well-read too, Sourwolf. Holy shit, I have something more in common with Derek-I-brood-in-the-forest-Hale. And you thought I just had a porn stash under my bed...oops..."

"Shut up, Stiles," said Derek, sighing. 

_Sourwolf,_ Derek thought. _I haven't heard that name...in ages._

"Yeah, yeah," said the younger man, yawning and turning on his side. "Mmm. This... has... been... nice... _surreal_ , but nice..." 

Stiles's eyes had quickly become deliciously leaden. 

"I'll stay here until you fall asleep," Derek said softly. 

"Suit... your...self," Stiles mumbled, and closed his eyes.

"Goodnight, Stiles," said the werewolf, gazing at him as he settled. Stiles's breathing became deep and slow even as he said "Thanks...staying here...dreaming...don't need Adderall... Derek...Margaret Thatcher torpedoed the _Belgramo_..."

Derek shook his head with a little smile. 

Oh God, he thought. This kid. This frustrating, irritating, loyal, intelligent kid. Look at him, so fragile, so fearless. 

_I've missed him._ If only he knew. He's always been pack, but he doesn't believe it deep down. He doesn't see his inner light. If only I could tell him. Thank God he has Scott and his dad and the others. Maybe if I had bitten him when I was still an Alpha he could be safer. But no... that would be _wrong._ Stiles never needed the bite. Not like Erica or Boyd or Isaac. Stiles doesn't need to be fixed. 

_He fixes others._

Well, at least we're... .friends. 

His eyes flashed blue briefly, and he was startled as he saw the light reflect in the window. 

Please, God, he found himself saying, _keep this one safe._ Even if I have to run away again. Let the darkness follow me rather. I'm used to it.

_Did I just pray? Grandma would be amused._

Half-past three.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, listening to Stiles snoring softly and twitch every now and then, trying to make sure there would be no more dreams. He thought briefly about curling up on the floor, wishing he was able to turn into full wolf form like Laura and his mom could, and just _lie_ there until morning. Or perch motionless outside Stiles's window wolfed out like a giant gargoyle or cathedral grotesque, keeping evil spirits away.

Outside, one of the streetlamps sputtered its yellow across the street, a forgotten moon waning low in the sky. As he walked slowly to bed, the wind whipped up suddenly outside. In the distance, lightning strobed over the hills. 

Another storm.

 

 

 

*

 

While Stiles scurried around Beacon Hills Hospital like the dutiful orderly he was, Derek spent the morning stocking the Stilinskis' kitchen with groceries. He took the bus to the other side of town where Beacon Hills's answer to Dean & DeLuca's was. As he walked down the aisles, he searched deep within his memories, trying to copy what his mother kept in their kitchen.

It came to him surprisingly quickly. Lemons. Limes. Fresh garlic. Scallions. Fresh basil bunches. Bacon lardons. Doppio Zero flour for making fresh pasta – he remembered now how the whole family pitched in to make pasta. Derek would insist on kneading the dough, waiting for the moment when the gluten and olive oil and egg suddenly married and the mixture became glossy and elastic. His father rolling the dough as flat as possible until his mother would feed it into the machine, all the children catching the nascent pasta in their hands as the roller pressed it thinner and thinner. Little Sarah squealing with glee as the cutter spliced the final product into beautiful ribbons. 

Pre-made lasagne sheets would have to do for now; he doubted the Stilinskis had a pasta-maker and he certainly didn't want Stiles's kitchen covered in a snowstorm of flour. He decided on making a lasagne for when Scott and Isaac would come in the evening over, on the pretense of some bro-bonding with Stiles. His maternal grandmother's recipe, which he knew well. She had been a Donizetti, from a proud and very old family of devoutly Catholic werewolves from Tuscany. Related to the composer of the same name. He bought fresh minced fillet steak for the ragout, and some porterhouses for lunch, as he was certain Stiles would be hungry when he finished his shift.  

He started cooking nervously, after nearly an hour figuring out Stiles's kitchen. But then some sort of unconscious memory took over, and soon the whole house was heady with the scent of frying onions and oregano and garlic.

He was so absorbed in the bechamel he didn't notice that Stiles was standing in the doorway, his jaw agape. 

"Holy fucking shitballs," said Stiles, trying to take in the image of Derek wearing his mother's old apron and stirring a pot with a wooden spoon.  

"Oh, hi," said Derek, suddenly feeling _bashful_ –Derek Hale never felt bashful– "I thought I'd make something for tonight when Scott and Isaac come over. Might soften things if we, uh, feed them well."

"I thought..." Stiles stammered, "I thought we were just going to get pizza...you didn't have to..."

"I _wanted_ to, really. Like I said, I'm not freeloading. And I'm going to do some steak for lunch. Figured we should keep up your protein so you don't fall off the workout wagon." 

"Okay, that proves my theory." said Stiles, his arms waving about like a spider-crab. "Derek Hale has really been abducted by aliens and been replaced by a clone with a Martha Stewart chip."

"I could put my jacket back on and play Metallica while I cook if it makes things more familiar," said Derek gravely, but his eyes remained bright as he turned the gas flame to a cooler setting. 

Stiles belly-laughed – the whole kitchen sang with the high harmonics of it. Derek couldn't help finding it strangely beautiful and smiled to himself. "I'm officially rendered speechless," Stiles said after his laughter had calmed down. 

"Speechless? That's impossible," said Derek, not looking up from the bechamel sauce. "Make yourself useful and get me a beer from the fridge; I bought some for myself but I'll turn a blind eye if you have one. _One_ only. How do you like your steak?" 

"Rare," said Stiles helplessly. "Like I'd hope all your kin do."

"Thank God, you're not a philistine."

"Thank God, you're not boiling a bunny or something. That's very _Fatal Attraction_."  

"Ha."

As he set the cans down on the counter, Stiles paused and closed his eyes. He shuddered. It was almost as if his mother were in the kitchen, from the delicious smells and the sound of pots merrily bubbling away on the hob. He had noticed with a pang in his heart that Derek had found her beloved turquoise Le Creuset casserole dish. But even as Stiles secretly wiped his eyes, he thought his mother would be happy that it was being used again. 

The steaks were _awesome_ , Derek teaching Stiles how it all came down to letting the meat rest for as long as possible. Stiles anguished between letting the glorious slices melt on his tongue for as long as possible or cram it down his gullet as quickly as, well, a wolf would.

"I'm in heaven," said Stiles with his mouth full. "If I were on death row this is what I'd want as my last meal."

"I'll take that as a compliment," said Derek, looking genuinely pleased. 

They went back to the Hale House after lunch and soon had finished with all the books. Stiles insisted on gathering up the burnt stuff into bags and carrying them outside for taking to the dump later. 

"Voila," said Stiles as when and Derek finished sweeping all the dust and soot from the newly-cleared study. The room was fresh with the smell of pine-scented floor cleaner. "It's alive!" he said, imitating Dr Frankenstein. _"It's aliiiiiiiiive!_ "

Derek was surprised how good it felt. He thought it would be painful, confronting the remnants of the home he grew up in, shaking the memories free from the objects that crossed and crossed over his hands again. But he felt comfortable. Safe, somehow, the silence banished by Stiles directing the sorting and cleaning with a constant jabber that he felt _soothing._  

Stiles realised needed some headspace to parse all the developments of the past few days, so after they got back to his house he decided to jog to gym and work out a bit while Derek got everything ready for dinner. Scott and Isaac would be coming around seven and Stiles knew he'd have to be as calm as possible because he had no idea how they'd react. He was most worried about Isaac, who was still smarting about how Derek had shut him out. Scott would probably be justifiably angry. Was Derek strictly speaking an Omega now? Did the Hale Pack even exist anymore? Now that his best friend was the Alpha, would he consider Derek an intruder? But that wasn't Scott. Scott always believed the best in people. Stiles was the hard-boiled cynic.

But, he thought with a little smile as he sweated and groaned on the bench-press, they were very alike in one way: they were fiercely protective of the ones they loved. _Derek too._

 

 

*

 

"They're here," said Derek as he heard Isaac's car pulling up in the driveway.

"I'll get the door," said Stiles, who had been pacing up and down in the den for half an hour. "Stay in the kitchen and uh – keep on being domestic or something."

He took a deep breath as he opened the door to meet them. 

"Hey, buddy," said Scott, drawing Stiles into a big hug and bumping his forehead against Stiles's. 

"Yo," said Isaac, waving shyly. 

"Well, come in, dudes... ok, Fido, enough with the sniffing. Damn it _,_ Isaac, you too! Down boys!"

Scott chuckled as the werewolves backed off from Stiles's neck.

It was still a bit weird for Stiles to have all the wolves sniff him when they hadn't seen him for more than a day or so (did all werewolves suffer from chronic separation anxiety?) but he would long-sufferingly yield his neck to them in return for the sole right to make dog jokes whenever he wanted. Stiles doubted that there was any other Alpha on the continent who would allow someone to call them Rover or Lassie.

"It smells amazing in here!" said Scott as they walked in. "Did you cook?"

"Um, well...." fumbled Stiles. "You see..." 

Isaac sniffed the air, and then growled suddenly, his eyes flashing amber. "Scott...there's someone here," he whined.

Scott caught the scent too and stiffened. "No, it can't be,'' he said.

"Wait... I can explain," said Stiles, throwing his hands up and feeling his heartbeat pounding. 

"It's all right, Stiles," said Derek calmly, walking out of the kitchen towards the three of them.

 "Hello Scott. Hello Isaac."

"Derek?" said Scott incredulously.

Isaac hissed and sprouted claws, but Scott grabbed his wrist and he backed down, still growling softly.

Derek kept his head bowed towards Scott, an obvious sign of respect. To his credit, Scott wasn't showing any signs of aggression, though even Stiles could sense that Isaac was as tense as a bowstring about to snap.

"When did you come back?" the Alpha asked evenly, staring at Derek.

"Saturday," said Stiles, who suddenly felt guilty. 

"Bro? Why didn't you tell me?"

Scott looked hurt, and Isaac positively pissed.

"It's... it's..."

"I made him promise," said Derek. "And you were away with Allison. I wanted to tell you face-to-face. Because, technically I'm intruding on your territory."

"You're not intruding," said Scott, but his face remained serious. "But I'm surprised. You left us. Again."

"Has he been _living_ here?" said Isaac. "I can smell him all over the place!"

"Wait now," said Stiles, "Can we all just go sit down somewhere please... everybody standing around in the hallway is freaking me out like you're all about to go Matrix Bullet Time and break the furniture..." 

The werewolves looked at him and nodded in a small Mexican wave, In silence, everybody shuffled awkwardly to the den.

"Can I get anybody something to drink?" said Stiles as they sat down. "Before you think I'm being a bad host and I need to go check on the lasagne and you guys need a pow-wow..." 

"It's okay, buddy," said Scott. "You're part of my pack, so anything that's said should be said in front of you too." 

"I agree," said Derek.

Isaac nodded. "Plus, dude," he said, "you need to explain some stuff too." 

"Okaaaayyyyy..." said Stiles, but got up anyway. "Just please, let me fetch some drinks, _I'm_ having a beer, maybe ten, I don't care what anybody says." 

As he ran to the kitchen he could feel the air thick with confusion and uncertainty and maybe even a bit of betrayal. He was loyal to Scott... Scott called him _pack_... but why was he feeling torn between his best friend and Derek?

At least the lasagne was going to be tasty, he shrugged as he opened the fridge to get the drinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of T.S. Eliot hiding in this one for you literary groupies... I had fun...


	8. All Too Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pack dynamics unfold all too quickly in Stiles's house.

As Stiles sat down handing out beer and soda (so many algorithms; Derek liked beer though he couldn’t get drunk, Scott hated the stuff and preferred chocolate milk, Isaac drank anything you gave him) he started chattering about what he hoped JJ Abrahams would be doing to the new Star Wars franchise.

“Stiles,” said Scott, calmly and evenly. “Please.”

Stiles swung around and found his best friend looking at him with a stern expression.

He _did_ shut up. B oth Derek and Isaac raised their eyebrows. 

_Did you just Alpha me, buddy_? he thought, simultaneously maddened and freaked. 

Scott had never done that before. 

“So then,” the Alpha continued, “why are you back?”

“Well—” offered Stiles.

“I want to hear it from him,” said Scott, palming him away without looking at him.

Stiles felt positively _hurt._

Derek took a deep breath and interlaced his fingers and proceeded to summarize the events of the past few days. Scott and Isaac listened intently while Stiles fidgeted with the fraying uphosltery at the one end of the sofa while tapping a foot furiously against the chaise longue across him.

“...and, so I’ve been here with Stiles for the past two days, and he’s kindly been helping me sort out things in the house.”

Scott took a few moments, his expression unreadable, while Isaac scowled and ran his fingers rhythmically through his dirty golden locks. Stiles could swear he was growling subsonically. 

“Are you going to stay?” he said eventually.

“I don’t know,” said Derek. “I’d like to, but...”

“But what?” said Isaac suddenly. “Is the idea of being around people who cared about you too painful or something?" 

“Isaac. I understand you’re angry with me.”

Isaac got up and walked a few steps towards Derek. His eyes were still human but they were bright with hurt. 

“Angry? Damn fucking right I am! Like the way you chased me out of the loft, for starters.” 

“It was to protect you.”

“Yes, and I’m grateful for that, but did you even bother to come round and explain that to me yourself? No, you just fucked off. And then you came back when Peter did his little thing and why, yes, thank you for helping out but then off you went _again_. You _made_ me, doesn’t that count for something?”  

“I’m not your Alpha anymore,” Derek said gently. “And I was not a good Alpha either.” 

“You kicked me out _into the street!_ " the younger werewolf cried. "Scott took me in. Damn right you’re not my Alpha any more.” 

Derek looked visibly stricken. 

“He was trying to–” said Stiles.

“Stiles, not now,” said Scott. “Please.”

“Yes, _master_ ,” Stiles replied sarcastically. He downed his beer, promptly opening another.

Scott glared at Stiles briefly but seemed unperturbed. He was clearly in charge of this evening’s proceedings, everybody deferent, Stiles begrudgingly so. 

Derek balled one fist when he saw how dejected Stiles looked, but returned to face Isaac.

“I’m really sorry, Isaac," he said quietly. "I’m... I'm terrible at communicating. I was never meant to be an Alpha. But Laura wasn’t here and Peter certainly... he was... evil. I wish I could take it all back. I’m sorry I shut you out, I _was_ trying to protect you.’

“I thought I wasn’t good enough any more. And Boyd and Erica are gone. I felt I had no-one.”

Derek hunched his shoulders and put his chin on his chest, wanting to quietly implode. The loss of the two kids, so viciously taken from him by the Alpha Pack, washed across him in an acrid tide. He’d offered them a better life; in return they got a gruesome death.

“I get that,” he continued, “and I’m sorry. Nothing I can do can change the way I behaved or the choices I made. But I had your best intentions at heart.”

Isaac’s cheeks were hot and flushed. “Best intentions?” he snapped. “Yup. Road to hell, that’s what you get when you’re made by a fucking omega.”

“How _dare_ you,” Stiles said suddenly, launching himself at Isaac, who was so startled he stumbled backwards. “He was doing the best he could!”

“Traitor,” said Isaac, hissing and eyes flashing. “You yourself said he was being an ass. And now you’re living together, how cute.”

Stiles took a deep breath and became _calmer_.

_Careful, Stilinski. Temperature dropping._

 “He _was_ being an ass, and he still is sometimes, no offence,” he said.

“None taken,” said Derek.

Stiles clenched his eyes tight and then relaxed them. “But he’s fucking _trying,_ and giving people second chances is what this pack is all about, am I right, Scott?”

Scott kept his stern Alpha face on, but then nodded.

“I’m causing trouble, again,” said Derek quietly. “Maybe it’s better...”

_Too late. Snow falling._

“Oh _no_ you don’t,” the lone human said, very slowly with his Voice Of Doom. Scott backed away and Isaac whined quietly. “Not any more. You stay if you want to stay. You leave if you have a valid reason... not some existential martyrdom crap. You have a right to be here, pack dynamics or not, you own property.”

Derek, taken utterly aback, tried to melt into the floor.

“He’s right,” said Scott, not trying to add any fuel to the brunet’s cold fire. “But if you do stay here, Derek, I insist that you join our pack for protection.”

“Scott, how can you just let him...” pleaded Isaac.

_Ice Station Stiles._   


Stiles kept speaking slowly and methodically and shone the beam of frosty darkness onto Isaac. “Let me make this clear. Very clear. I really, really do _not_ want any hatred or politics in this pack. Derek messed up, but he’s come back contrite, and he has a right. To. Be. Here.”

Isaac was rooted to the spot, eyes agog.

Stiles snorted. Being furious was tiring. He didn’t like it. 

“Well. What’s it going to be then?” said Scott, his arms folded and face cocked to one side.

Derek raised his head and met Scott’s gaze for a few moments, then lowered his head again.

“I accept, and pledge allegiance to my Alpha.” 

Isaac growled a little, but Scott shot him a look and he stopped. 

Stiles was drumming his foot faster and faster on the carpet.

“Stiles, _enough_ with the drumming,” said Scott, irritated. “This is an august moment.”

_Freezing point: nitrogen._   


“August?” said Stiles, “a word that _I_ taught you to help you pass your finals, and now I’m interrupting some impromptu pack initiation ritual that I’m obviously too human and too stupid to understand?"

“Stiles,” said Derek soothingly, “it’s not like that.”

“I need _all_ of you to be respectful,” said Scott, a little too loudly.

“No, Scott, what’s with you, being all imperious all of a sudden? What am I, Mary Reilly to your Dr Jekyll?”  
  
“Stiles, stop this,” said Scott, looking irritated.

“Please _stop_? Stop what? Being the glue that keeps this motley crew of werewolves together? The sound of my feet too much of a noise for your sensitive little werewolf ears?”  

“STILES. You’re being very disrespectful.” 

_Whiteout._

“Oh _sorry_ my Alpha, did I not roll over and expose my belly for you to sniff? Do you want me to flatten my ears and whine and oh yes, why don’t you go get yourself to a big helping of Derek’s lasagne and then you can snap at me when I come too near to the Big Dog...”

Scott flashed red and grabbed Stiles by the shirt and squeezed his shoulder so that Stiles yelped. He’d never had Scott wolf out on him, save the time in the boys’ locker room when he was still trying to control his new powers and Stiles never held that episode against him.

“ _Stop that_ ,” he growled, “this is not acceptable behaviour."

_Would all atoms in the Universe kindly stop moving._   


Stiles was _afraid_.

Derek was behind Stiles in a second, curling an arm around him.

Tears welled in Stiles’s eyes.

“I now see where _I_ belong in all of this,” he muttered. “I’m pack, but I’m an omega. An omega-human. Thanks, buddy. Thanks a lot.”

Scott’s eyes turned normal and a horrible expression unfolded itself onto his face.

“Shit...Stiles... I didn’t mean...”

“Yeah you didn’t!” he shot back furiously. “I’m told I’m pack, and then I’m made to feel I don’t matter. In my own house.” 

Scott looked horrified. Isaac glowered awkwardly in the corner, _shivering._  Derek maintained his grip around Stiles, who seemed unaware of the way he was being held.

_Absolute zero._   


“I’ve always been your sidekick and I never minded," he said, in a dead voice, as if speaking in a dead language. "Actually. I was your Yoda. Your fucking Yoda. Between me and Derek we taught you everything you know. And yeah, you know what, now you've made me _afraid_ of you. My best fucking friend. Why don’t you werewolves all just _fuck off_ out of my life. Because clearly I’m good enough to help when needed, but not good enough just to be Stiles.”  

“Stiles... I’m sorry...” said Scott in his usual puppy voice.

“I’m sorry too,” he said miserably. “So anyway, I guess all of you should go out and follow your Alpha. But please, have some of what Derek’s been cooking for hours. It would be _disrespectful_ not to. Then leave my house. This little omega human’s going to his room to save whatever dignity he has left.”

Scott had tears in his eyes, unable to meet Stiles’s fierce gaze. 

“Oh, and Alpha?” said Stiles, freeing himself from Derek and facing Scott. “ _This_ goes very nicely with your red eyes,” he said, tugging at his collar, exposing his shoulder where a large angry bruise was forming. _  
_

He turned on his heel and stormed up the stairs.

 


	9. Disavowal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek didn’t do awkward. Half of him wanted to flee – not from Stiles; the wolf in him wanted to race into the forest and howl with anger at seeing someone he cared about get hurt. And yet, here he was.

"Stiles?" said Derek, halting by the threshold of his door. "Are you ok?"

Of course he’s not ok, thought Derek. If there was one thing about humanity he disliked, it was platitudes. Wolves just _felt,_ wolves _knew_.

Stiles didn’t say anything, but stared out at his bedroom window.

“Do you want me to go away?” Derek offered, very quietly. Later it would occur to Derek that he was deferring to Stiles as if the young man were an Alpha himself.

“Whatever you want,” said Stiles flatly. “I pretty much disavowed myself of werewolves didn’t I?”

Derek didn’t do awkward. Half of him wanted to flee – not from Stiles; the wolf in him wanted to race into the forest and howl with anger at seeing someone he cared about get hurt. Sure, Stiles had been a... no pun intended... _bitch_ to Scott, but Scott had never done the Alpha power trip thing with his best friend before. It was something Derek would have done. Something he had done over and over again, with all the members of his pack when he was Alpha.

“I’d like to come in,” he said, in spite of himself.

“You’re not a fucking vampire,” Stiles snapped, huffing. “And you don’t have to be so goddamned polite.”

“I should have known better,” the younger man continued. “ _I_ started this.”

Derek sat down on the edge of the bed, biting his lip. He never bit his lip.

“He had no right to speak to you that way,” he said after a little while. You guys always banter and rip each other off. It’s something I admire, really.”

“I don’t mean _that_!” Stiles said, standing up and balling his fists. “I mean, it’s because of me that Scott got bitten. And I was jealous of all that... all that power... all this...” – he threw his hands around frantically – “ _death_ and destruction. I’m sick of it now. It makes me want to hurl to think that I somehow I got _off_ on it, as if I felt I was part of something... whatever.”

Derek winced.

“It’s not your fault,” he said, getting up and walking slowly towards Stiles.

“Ha,” he said bitterly.

“You _are_ part of this pack. A very important part.”

“Jesus, Derek, you don’t know, do you.”

Derek couldn’t help cocking his head. Then he saw Stiles staring at the small crucifix that hung on the wall above his desk. He’d never noticed it before, and if he did, he would have thought it was part of all the research Stiles was permanently up to, among the papers and drawings and little _tsatskes (_ as his great-aunt would have called them).

_Oh._

“I think I do know,” he said as the realization swept across him.

“Yeah, right,” Stiles said, squirreling his fingers through his hair,  “when Scott was bitten, part of me thought, oh God. And not as a name in vain. My mother believed, you know; she went to Mass every Sunday. She never forced me or my dad. She never judged anybody. I was always more agnostic, I guess, but I stopped...”

“You stopped believing in anything when she died. And then you discovered the supernatural.”

Stiles couldn’t help a nod, even as he stayed stiff and pale in the darkness. He started babbling again.

“Where does it all fucking come from? It was safe, reading Sartre and Camus... and you know I did that silently in my room, not in a coffee shop trying to be pretentious, just... being a stupid angsty teen... it felt good almost, life is fucking absurd and people die and shit things happen and then you become nothing and that’s ok, you won’t remember the hurt, and then it all changed two years ago, but the more I search, whatever’s out there is just more hurt and anger and violence and evil... where is the _good_ , Derek, where is this God that supposedly is so wonderfully _benevolent_ and _caring?_  Where is...”

_She. Where is she now._

Stiles crumpled back onto the bed, hands palmed across his face, curling himself into himself.

Then Derek was hugging him, clinging to him like a barnacle. Stiles beat his fists against Derek’s chest, not caring that he might as well have been hitting a brick wall.

“Stop it, Derek, stop it,” he screamed, but Derek held him tighter.

The first sob came out as an ugly yawp: primal, protean. Then the convulsion of sounds, arpeggios cascading from high ki-yi’s to deep sonic trembles, up, down, up down. Derek’s movements mirrored this, rocking the young man back and forth.

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Derek whispered, craning his neck forward and resting his head on top of Stiles. _Cub is sad. Cub is hurt._ “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault,” he repeated in a slow mantra, not caring if Stiles believed the words, but hoping his voice would soothe him.

Stiles fisted his hands alternately into Derek’s shirt, like a kneading kitten. Gradually the sobs faded, Derek now stroking his hair, breathing heavily into it. The werewolf had screwed his eyes tight, trying to fight off the heat and wet behind his own eyelids. His hand wandered down to Stiles’s injured shoulder and burrowed under his T-shirt to the sore space, locking his fingers gently around the bruise even has the brunet winced.

Stiles felt heat and then tingling around the area, and swore he could hear crackling. He turned his head and caught a glimpse of the dark swirls dancing up Derek’s veins.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said, the words coming out like a boy whose voice was breaking.

“I want to.”

Scott had really done a number on the shoulder, and Derek felt his fangs grow briefly with anger. He sighed with relief as he sensed it was just soft tissue damage; the joint and bones were fine.

“It feels... it feels good,” Stiles squeaked. Derek’s hand relaxed but stayed on the area.

Stiles felt giddy, heady with the rush of endorphins that were now left orphaned without a signal to attack the pain, mixing with the soup of neurotransmitters that came with any post-crying lethargy. He ragdolled in Derek’s arms and the werewolf placed him gently on the bed.

“I was just...” said Derek stupidly. “You were hurt... you are hurting...” he mumbled.

“Well, I didn’t get a panic attack,” Stiles replied in a whisper, his breathing still evening out. “I just soaked your shirt.”

“I didn’t sense that. Not last night either... I kind of thought nightmares would trigger... you know... sorry, I shouldn’t be talking about this, and to hell with my shirt.”

“It’s fine, Big Bad,” said Stiles, trying to sound upbeat but the worlds coming out half-assed, “I haven’t had a panic attack since...”

“Lydia,” said Derek, frowning suddenly as he noticed the brief spike in the heartbeat.

“Lydia,” said Stiles with a little smile. “She saved me. You knew?”

“Like I said, I pay attention.”

Derek was still frowning, and was glad it was dark in the room so that Stiles wouldn’t notice.

_What the hell?_

Stiles snorted. “Stalker,” he said. “Big Bad Stalker.”

“Little Red,” Derek found himself shooting back. His frown disappeared.

“Oh no you don’t, Sourwolf.”

“Little Red Riding Hoodie.”

“Big Bad Broody Wolf.”

“Little Red Razor Tongue.”

“Big Bad Broody Balto.”

“He was a sled dog!”

“Yeah, and he was cute too. It wasn’t exactly _Fantasia_ , but I kind of watched it on rotation when I was little. Plus the Kevin Bacon voice, which was almost as grumpy as yours. Which makes me think, how does Kevin Bacon work out the Kevin Bacon game for himself? Does he use...I don’t know, Molly Ringwald as a reference point?”

“Stiles...” said Derek, chuckling wearily.

“I know. I know. Shut up.”

“That’s _not_ what I meant,” lied Derek, and flooding with guilt of a sudden.

“If you say so. So. Where are the other two?”

“I suggested they leave.”

“You cooked.”

“It can go in the fridge. Tastes better the next day anyway. Um, Stiles...”

“Yeah.”

“Me joining the pack...”

“It’s _fine_ , Derek. I know Scott’s going to beat himself up about this. And frankly, he can go ahead. It’ll heal.”

 _I hope_ , he thought bitterly.

“You’re too kind, Stiles.”

“Whatever.”

“Do you want something to eat?”

“I think I want to just lie here a bit,” Stiles said, closing his eyes. The werewolf nodded anyway and sat down in Stiles’s desk chair, not saying anything.

Stiles’s heartbeat was even, steady. Derek counted the younger man’s heart rate, a little habit of his: 72 beats to the minute. _Andante_ , his mother’s favourite tempo. Clair de Lune was marked as _Andante très expressif,_ the werewolf suddenly recalled. It was that phrase that made him want to learn French when he first heard his mother play it, because Debussy insisted on marking his music –as much as was possible– in his own language, not in Italian as was the norm. Derek was five, and he remembered sitting next to his mother at the piano stool and watching her beautiful hands arc up and down the keyboard, the music the most beautiful thing he had ever heard in his life: moonlight distilled into sound.

Derek let his memories wander as Stiles spaced out.

At first learning French was beautiful. Derek’s parents, impressed by their son’s gift for absorbing languages –he could already converse in Italian with his grandmother by the age of four– got him a private tutor. Monsieur Fauré was a short little Belgian emeritus professor of Romance languages at Beacon Hills Community College, and said that Derek could conjugate verbs at ten better than some of his students. Talia was pleasantly surprised at one hobby that had actually stuck with one of her children. Laura had tried piano, then trumpet ( _horrendous_ and frankly painful to all the werewolves in the house), Cora’s gymnastics was an extended course in faceplanting before she manifested and Seth was always vacillating between lacrosse and football and girls. Talia had always known that Derek was the most sensitive of her children; he was always the one to get quietly tearful in any movie with the slightest hint of _tragedy_ ( _E.T._ was positively traumatic for him) and he would always shout the loudest and whoop with joy when he watched his big brother play. (She knew, when he could just read and discovered the book of _Grimm’s Fairy Tales_ in the study and found out what always happened to the wolf, and had nightmares for a week.)

Then he met the girl, and Derek positively _blossomed_ for a few blessed months... until...

When his blue eyes came, the darkness settled in and never left. The vicious bloodbath that the Hales rained down on the intruding pack did little to restore a sense of justice in the boy. Her death started a slow implosion. A strange, inverted implosion. His grades _improved_. He would come home and go straight to his room and study for hours. He lifted and benched and pressed as many weights as he could until he writhed with pain. Anything to divert his mind.

And then, Kate and the fire.

He was stupid, he thought, thinking that university would achieve anything, stupid for thinking the darkness was _finally_ escaping as he forced himself into the colour and frenzy and parties that was New York. Because then it was Laura and Peter and Scott and the Alpha pack and then...

And then, the Darach.

After he moved to Sacramento, just before he sold the Camaro, Derek drove to Big Sur one rainy weekend and sat on a rock and made a promise to himself.

_Never again. My heart is locked now._

Yet here he was, sitting in this boy’s room, watching him fall asleep again, _praying_ again _._

_Please don’t break. Please don’t break._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this brilliant rendition of Clair de Lune on youtube: http://youtu.be/ZIsQPdC9YnY and you'll see why I chose this as Talia's piece.


	10. Into The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is not some secret werewolf murder the human in the forest ritual, I hope?" he asked as they got out of the car. "Because I'm not wearing my red hoodie, so you can dispense with any fairy-tale allusions. And I don't have the picnic basket either, my Grandma is dead and there's no cottage in the woods here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite an orgy of tropes, mythology, palaeontology and good old fashioned Dickensian "Dear Reader"-ing abound here. And TONS of Stiles / Derek domesticity. You have been warned.

 

Dawn came, bright amber rays squinting through the trees and setting the forest floor aglow. Soon the sun was high enough to stab through the forest canopy and illuminate the strange tableau that had played itself out in the clearing. The body lay slumped in the water, the stream sweeping briskly over the young man's head. The current flailed his dark brown hair into a corona as it rushed on to the river and then the lake until it met its eventual infinity at a distant coastline. Even in summer, the stream was cold. Later, when the police turned him around, his lips were bright blue, forming a counterpoint to the blotches of purple and red splattered across his skin like a grisly Jackson Pollock painting. The tattoo on his bicep was the only thing that seemed out of place. He was only wearing his boxers. A single pair of footprints led from the neatly folded tracksuit under the large pine tree a few feet from the scene.

Two hours earlier and five miles away, Stiles had yawned and felt surprisingly refreshed as he stretched himself and gazed out through the window at the brightening sky. He let himself fall back, closing his eyes to listen to the birdsong and smelling the scent of jasmine from the garden borne on fresh morning air.

Oh, how he loved summer. And to be up at dawn for no reason but that one had slept well –with no dreams– this was rare bliss.

The birdsong had a definite undertone of rhythmic rumbling. It was then that Stiles realized there was soft snoring coming from the other side of the bed. He turned around and did a double-take as he saw Derek curled up on the far side, on top of the duvet, wrapped in a blanket.

Stiles flushed. Derek looked so young fast asleep, hair floppy and expression positively beatific and wait now, good grief, was he _drooling?_ He was totally drooling on Stiles's pillows.

Well hello, cognitive dissonance, thought Stiles as he battled to reconcile _oh gross_ with _oh cute_.

Derek stirred and stretched out an arm that landed with a plop on Stiles's chest.

The younger man yelped.

Derek opened his eyes and stared stupidly at Stiles, opening and closing his mouth a few times and swallowing.

"Uh, hi there," said the werewolf, his eyes curious.

"Hiiiii!" said Stiles in a high voice. Derek sat up and noticed the trickle of drool on the side of his face and wiped it away bashfully.

"I must have dozed off," the werewolf replied in a morning voice that managed to be an octave deeper than his usual gruff baritone.

Derek remembered vaguely how he had shuffled towards Stiles's bed after the brunet had fallen asleep and the office chair was getting uncomfortable. _I'll just stay here a little while_ , he had thought, _and then go get us some dinner._ Now it was nearly nine hours later.

"Yeah," said Stiles, yawning.

"Sorry."

Stiles didn’t know what was freaking him out more, the fact that _Derek Hale_ was in (okay, on top of, but seriously) his bed having slept next to him all night, or the fact that it _wasn’t_ freaking him out.

"Totally cool dude,” he said, not sure if he was lying or not. “I was pretty out of it myself."

Derek nodded and sat up. The blanket fell away and revealed the werewolf's bare chest. Stiles tried hard to avert his gaze, because he was in danger of scanning that torso up and down, up and down, and not subtly.

_He just dozed off... half-naked?_

"I'm all slept out actually," said Derek, stretching. "I'm going to get up... can I get you some coffee or something?"

_Oh my, those arms._

"S-sure," said Stiles, as his stomach rumbled.

"Hungry too eh? I bet. I can warm up some lasagne for us. I'm certainly going to have."

"Oh hell yes! We both skipped dinner – and that must count as a werewolf emergency, cause I assume you guys might implode if you don't have your daily intake of a googolplex of calories."

Derek smiled and got up. "I'll bring it to you if you want to laze around."

"Breakfast in bed? First time I've woken up with another... person in my bed – and Scott doesn't count because we weren't _men_ then –"

Stiles thought sadly about how his boyhood was, really, over now, about the many sleepovers he and Scott had had at each other's houses. They'd done that since they were in second grade and knew even then that they were brothers. And then, last night...

"Well I hope it was everything you thought it would be," said Derek, trying as hard as he could to keep up the banter.

"If you're bringing me breakfast makes you a perfect gentleman. As for me, I would have gone for dinner and drinks first."

"Maybe next time."

"You're a tease, Derek Hale, do you know that?"

_Actually, you are a perfect gentleman... such a gentle wolf, really, under all that surly swagger._

Derek rolled his eyes, and then turned serious.

"How are you feeling? I mean, last night with Scott..."

"It is what it is," said Stiles, trying to sound as nonchalant as he could, even as it felt like a little icy dagger started stabbing at his heart. "They can stew in it a bit."

Derek sensed that Stiles was trying to be brave, but he didn't say anything.

"I'm gonna go downstairs," the werewolf said, "and sort out breakfast." He walked towards the door.

"Awesome. Um, Derek?"

"Yeah buddy?"

_OMG. Buddy._

"Thanks for being there last night."

_You'll never know how much it meant to me._

"Of course. Any time."

_He'll never know how good it felt to hold him._

"See you now Little Red," he added, as he walked out, ducking as Stiles threw an old copy of _Rolling Stone_ at him.

He waited until he could hear Derek mucking about in the kitchen before he let out a deep sigh. “Damn you, Margaret Thatcher,” he said softly, noticing how uncomfortable things were south of the border, “you’re not helping.”

Distraction was always a good tactic, and Stiles spotted his phone and decided to play some Angry Birds (please, please, could Derek go for a walk or something soon because I’m _not_ having alone time with a super-sense wolf in the house). As he activated the handset, he saw he had several messages from Scott, and one from Isaac.

He frowned and went through them.

 

 

 

*

From: Isaac

To: Stiles

Messages (1)

_Stiles - I’m very sorry about what happened earlier. I didn’t want to interfere. I hope my anger at Derek didn’t contribute to the situation. Plus I said some nasty things to you. I have no problem that you seem to have become friends. I don’t agree with what Scott did, it’s very out of character. I hope you’re OK. Let me know. Isaac._

 

From: Stiles

To: Isaac

_Not to worry dude. I'm not really pissed at you. And I understand that things are awkward for you and Derek to say the least. Scott is now your alpha, but Derek turned you. You need to talk to him. Let's talk later. S._

 

 

 

 

*

 

From: Scott:

To: Stiles

Messages (5)

 

(1)  — _i'm so sorry buddy. i was a total dick._

Damn right you were, Stiles thought, glad that he had switched his phone to silent when he  stormed into his room.

 

(2) _—i understand if u don't want 2 talk to me. ever again. but please i want 2 apologize and face 2 face when you're willing, i don't just want to do this with a message._

Ah, remorse, Scott. You do it so well. (I totally want to text you and tell you to fuck the hell off but I'm not going to do that. You can stew.)

 

(3) _— i'm an asshole and i hurt my best friend. i know u were just trying 2 help and we always call each other names. please buddy, believe me._

Yes you did. And ok, I was being a bit petulant. But bloody hell can you at least stop the txtspk? (Should I reply?)

 

(4) — _i never meant to hurt u. it's no excuse but i got overwhelmed with Derek being there. something just took over. but i should know how to control this. oh god and that time i wanted to attack u in the locker room.  i'm a crappy alpha. ur a better leader of this pack._

Damn it Scott. Are all werewolves such martyrs? He totally is going to make me reply now. A human leading a pack? Did someone put wolfsbane in his kibble... ok, that was bitchy. Interesting how he manages to spell out his prepositions now. Capitalization would be nice though.

 

(5) — _i feel sick about what i did. ur my brother. ok i'm going to stop now... u need ur time i respect that. i love you bro._

Oh for fuck's sakes! That's it.

 

 

From: Stiles

To: Scott

_Fine. You can come over this afternoon._

In less than thirty seconds, Scott texted back.

 

Scott:

_omg thank god are you ok thank you thank you so much i don't deserve this_

 

Stiles:

_FFS Scott stop being such a drama queen._

 

Scott:

_I'm so sorry how is ur shoulder do u want me to take u 2 the doctor_

[So much for evolving out of txtspk. And to the doctor _now_? After the whole night?]

 

Stiles:

_Derek sorted it out. Quite frankly I don't want to discuss this via texts and no I'm not going to take calls either. And what are you doing up?_

 

Scott:

_i haven't slept all night i've been so worried and feeling like shit_

 

[Stiles groaned.]

 

Stiles:

_Whatever. Come at 3. I'm going to rest a bit more now._

 

Scott:

_sure thing buddy i'm glad Derek is there 2 take care of u_

 

[He so totally _is_ taking care of me.]

 

Stiles:

_yeah_

 

Scott:

_have a good rest, see you later. i’m going to go have a run in the forest to clear my head. and thank you thank you thank you i don't deserve as second chance._

[Stop the presses. He didn't write "l8r"]

 

Stiles:

_Ok._

 

[Damn right you need to have your head cleared. When you find it. Because you totally didn’t have it with you last night.]

 

 

 

 

*

 

"This is _awesome_ ," said Stiles with his mouth full of food, "I could eat this for the rest of my life. I want to _marry_ your lasagne."

"Thank you," said Derek, slightly amazed at how much food Stiles could cram down his throat. "It's the authentic bacon lardons. Not the crap stuff you get from the supermarket. And putting an extra mascarpone on every layer of béchamel."

Stiles was glad that the werewolf had had the temerity to put on his shirt, else he may very well have been distracted from the ambrosia before him, and that would be a tragedy. Wait, not really so much of a tragedy.

"Best. Breakfast. Ever."

"How can you eat so much and stay so thin? Wait... I know the answer to that."

"ADHD central, remember?"

"Your metabolism matches that of a werewolf's," Derek said, slurping his coffee. "I'm surprised you don't run hot. Wait a minute."

Derek reached over to where Stiles was still lying in bed and sniffed around his face.

"Dude! Are you _sniffing_ me?"

Derek's eyes widened. "Oh, sorry... habit. I just meant, I can't smell any Adderall on you. You usually have this faint tinge of... turpentine."

Stiles put down his fork and stared at Derek. "You're honestly telling me you can _smell_ what meds someone's on?"

"I hate making dog analogies, but why do you think there are sniffer dogs? Dogs are basically domesticated wolves. They can't smell quite as well as their wild brothers but they can pick up cocaine and heroin, for example."

"Holy crap, of course. And yes, I get it, that's why it's  _Canis lupus familiaris._ And, you're right, I haven't... needed... the Adderall for a few days now."

"I didn't mean to freak you out. I worked at a psychiatric hospital as an orderly for some extra cash when I was in New York. Since I was doing psychology, you know. I learnt to recognize meds and it was useful, I could totally tell which patients weren't taking their prescriptions."

"One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, but None Flew Over The Werewolf's Sense."

"Touché, young Stiles, touché."

Stiles stretched his arms to the tray where Derek had assembled a feast, and poured himself another cup of coffee. Of course Derek Connoisseur Hale would have insisted on making fresh drip brew, caffeine level DefCon 4.

"Shall we tackle some more things at your house? As you know I've got the day free."

"If you're up for it," said Derek pleasantly.

Stiles's face went serious. "Um, Scott's going to come over at three, though."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "I suppose you guys need to talk. I didn't want to say anything, but he needs to apologise to you or I'm leaving the pack. No, no drama please. I can't be loyal to an Alpha who treats others that way."

_Even if I did._

Stiles was touched.

"That's very noble of you," said Stiles, "but it's fine. I mean, I'm still furious at him, but I know he's beating himself up and self-flagellating with guilt way more than a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic like me ever could. He texted me like five times, so I'm giving him a chance."

"I wouldn't be as forgiving," said Derek flatly. "Werewolves don't do disloyalty very well. We can be a pain in the ass really. "

"Derek Hale, are you telling me you're saying something negative about your kind? And something I so totally didn't know before?"

Derek looked away. "Stiles, I hope you don't ever think that werewolves are _superior_ to humans. We have just as many faults. And, please, we're as much human as we are wolf. There are unfortunately supremacist werewolves who are... frankly... evil...and..."

"That's refreshing. And no, grumpywolf, I never thought you looked down on me."

"You didn't?"

"How could you when I'm so _awesome_ ," he said, "but seriously... you had humans in your pack. A brother and as sister. A father."

Derek nodded quietly.

"The best packs are mixed anyway," said the werewolf, folding his arms. "Best of both worlds. Scott is lucky to have you... I mean... if you don't leave."

"Leave? And miss out the chance to eternally have the upper hand on guilt trips? Besides, I'm totally the Grand Vizier Stilinski to Sultan Scott."

Derek chuckled. "That's beautifully put, actually. You know what Stiles?"

"What, Sourwolf?"

"You're a kingmaker. The great power behind the power. I don't have to spell out the Spider-Man reference regarding great power do I? But you're the best person to have that power in your hands."

Stiles gasped. "That's probably the nicest thing anybody's ever said to me," he said quietly. He felt a little uncomfortable. This Derek Hale that had appeared from nowhere, the Derek whom he was getting to know, was a deep deep lake compared to the petulant puddle of swagger he'd first met. And yet, he had always known, from that first time he and Scott chanced upon him in the forest, that there was much more to the sometime Alpha of Beacon Hills than a six-foot four living kouros decked out in leather and grumpiness. He just _felt_ it.

"So... um..." Stiles continued, trying to steer the conversation to something less personal, "I've been dying to know, and I never asked you, what is the Official Werewolf Take on where you guys come from? Is all the stuff about Lycaon true? I only have the info in the Bestiary and a billion hits on the Internet and all the stuff I could get from Deaton. Because believe me, I've always tried to take the scientific route. Even my mother saw no conflict between evolution and creation, and she knew more many novenas to the Saints than you could shake a druidy stick or Papal mace at."

"You know, there are places in the universe where there is no real difference between magic and science," said Derek.

"Hey! That's straight out of _Thor_."

"That's deliberate; I'm trying to match your love of pop culture. Plus I like Thor."

" _You read comic books?! Derek Hale is a closet Marvel geek?"_

"And you read E. M. Forster, so you're a little closet English literary aesthete. But wait now. There's a reason humans and wolves have always been involved with each other. It goes back beyond memory, and you'll probably know that the evidence points to the fact that man domesticated wolves and the first dogs appeared between 15 to 30 000 years ago. But our kind has it that it was a dual domestication. There were gifts passed from either side. We... domesticated _each other_."

Stiles listened, entranced, as Derek sat down at the edge of his bed.

"It is said that it was fated that wolf and man become brothers, even though recorded history tells a sad tale. I think the story of Lycaon is allegorical. My mother told me that among other things man got the gift of courage, of loyalty, of pure awareness from the wolf, and in return, the wolf got ingenuity, humour and creativity. Some say that the first werewolves came about keep both man and wolf safe."

"And the Beast of Gévaudan?"

Derek blew out his checks bitterly. "I'm not sure if that was propaganda or not, but it's a sensitive topic among us. Lots of inherited guilt. As you know, Gévaudan... it's where the hunters came from. Allison's from hunter royalty, you know."

Stiles was quick to soothe. "And she's in a pack now, running with an Alpha, who would have thought that. That was your coup, too, forging a truce with the Argents."

Derek was back at his patented thousand-yard stare. " _Argent_. Silver. It's such a beautiful word in French," he said suddenly.

"Everything's sexy in French," said Stiles, trying desperately to lighten the conversation, because he knew that for Derek,  _Argent_ = _Kate_ , the evil bitch who seduced a teenage boy and made him believe that it was safe to trust others, who murdered his family –innocent werewolves and humans– for the bagatelle of the thrill of the hunt.

"We... I... lost the Book," Derek said quietly. "That's why I made you do all that research."

"Book? But I have the Argent's Bestiary."

"Not that," said the werewolf, still staring out at nothing in particular, "our _Codex._ The _Codex Lupus_. It's our Book of Law. Every werewolf family has one, and it's virtually sacred. Everything is recorded in there...laws, births, deaths, christenings, weddings, family trees, advice and protocol and poetry and myth..."

"Wait. I've heard of that," said Stiles, eyes wide, helping himself to a third portion of lasagne. "I thought it was just a myth. Could only find the vaguest references. And Deaton wouldn't say anything."

"It's a closely-guarded secret. It's only handed down from Alpha to Alpha, and supposedly protected by powerful magic. Supposedly. Ha. In the wrong hands..."

_And I let it get into the wrong hands._

"It burned with the other books I suppose?" said Stiles, but Derek didn't say anything. "That wasn't your fault..."

_Oh. Wrong hands. Kate._

Stiles heard the rain of thousands of pennies dropping in his head, and his body twinged with pain, a pain he hadn't felt since the times he'd hold his mother's hand when she was knocked out on morphine and too weak to even speak.

 _Fuck you Kate Argent,_ he thought. _He was just a boy._

"She told me that if I let her see it she could protect us..." Derek gasped... "she made me..."

Stiles got up and grabbed Derek's hand where he was sitting at his desk and squeezed. Derek's hands were cool, as if he were drawing the heat into his core to keep calm; Stile's felt the werewolf's pulse beating fast and shallow.

_He's frightened. Big wolf is frightened. Should I hug him? He hugged me..._

"Don't talk about it if you don't want to," said the brunet, "or tell me everything. I'm here. Either way."

Derek was now breathing rapidly. "I don't... I don't know... I c-can't... oh God..."

Stiles now grabbed both Derek's wrists and stared him down. "If you're not ready, it's fine. Look at me, Derek, look at me."

Derek's grey-green irises locked onto Stiles's amber pools.

"Stiles."

"Take a deep breath in, Big Bad, and hold it. One, two, three, four five. That's it. And out sloooooowly. Again."

Derek nodded and did as Stiles told him. Slowly, his pulse calmed and the warmth flooded back into his hands, so that the big veins were visible once again.

"Thanks," he said almost inaudibly, "that was embarrassing."

"Happened to me hundreds of times."

"You sure know how to stop it. The breath-holding thing."

"A little something a strawberry blonde banshee taught me once," said Stiles gently with a little smile, and Derek couldn't help but mirror the gesture. When he was talking softly and slowly, the younger man's voice was surprisingly deep and soothing. It lilted; it made Derek think of a limpid stream sparkling in sunlight. _The stream in the woods that flowed into the lake._ Where he used to swim with his brother and cousins during long golden summer afternoons.

Stiles sat down on the bed and Derek followed suit, as if he didn't want to lose his proximity to the younger man. The sat quietly for a while, finishing their breakfast, until Stiles got up and started stacking the plates and mugs back on the tray.

"Beautiful day," said Derek eventually. "You should totally grab it by the horns."

"Correction," said Stiles, " _we._ I mean, if you want to lurk around the house that's fine, but let's tackle your kitchen. And no, don't give me the tragic eyebrows. Take advantage of amped-for-working Stiles while you can, dude. First stop the supermarket where we're buying every cleaning product ever dreamt up by a big evil corporation. Go shower so long."

"No, you go first. At least let me do the dishes. And buy you or make you lunch when we're done. Guess you'd better have a big meal before, um, Scott."

"Cool," said Stiles, looking surprisingly nonplussed.

"I suppose I should make myself scarce when he comes over," said Derek. "Unless you'd like me to be around."

"No, I got this one. Maybe you could speak to Isaac? I got a text from him, and it looks like he's feeling pretty cut up about last night."

"You're full of good ideas, Stilinski," the werewolf said pleasantly, picking up the tray and walking to the door. "I should probably have done it that way the first time round."

"Aren't I just," said Stiles, leaning back on his arms.

Derek halted by the threshold and his face became serious.

"Um, Stiles?"

"Thank you."

The werewolf's voice sounded almost cosmic as he said the two words, and Stiles understood with a shiver that he was saying thank you for so many things the younger man had done for him, for the pack, for all the people he loved. It made him feel awkward. He always became bashful with compliments – real compliments, not simply deference to his skill with a PlayStation controller or Olympic googling skills or encyclopedic knowledge on all subjects from astrophysics to zoology.

"My pleasure, Sourwolf," he said, looking away.

  

 

*

 

The second morning of cleaning was not just enjoyable, it was... for want of a better word... fun. Stiles made Derek haul out R2D2 and C3PO - the Stilinskis' modular vacuum cleaner and floor polisher that lived under the stairs – and they bought a Dexter's Laboratory of cleaning supplies on the way to the Hale House. The younger man annexed the werewolf's iPod and buzzed around the kitchen in a whirlwind of organic chemistry while Derek vacuumed and lugged boxes around. Once again, Stiles sorted burnt from junk from salvageable with the efficiency of a German headmistress. Since they had started early, the kitchen was looking _amazing,_ the bulk of the soot scrubbed off, Derek looking in disbelief in what they had wrought.

Stiles had been inspired and picked up gourmet sandwiches from the local –if rather pretentious– deli. It was now noon and they were tired and sweaty and hungry.

"Okay, food," said the younger man, his rumbling stomach betraying just how ravenous he was. He chucked a giant ham and cheese sub towards Derek, who caught it like a football. "Wolf down, wolfman."

After making short work of their lunch, they collapsed in joint food-stupors on the porch, Stiles belching most elegantly as he finished his soda.

"Charming," said Derek.

"Whatever," said the brunet. "Man, if only we were at Lydia's pool now. I could so dive into some water right now."

"That could be arranged, actually," said Derek, getting up and walking down the porch stairs out towards the Jeep. "Grab your keys. I want to show you something."

"Okaaaayyyy..." said Stiles, slightly confused.

Derek directed Stiles half a mile into the northern part of the woods where the Hale Estate abutted the densest part of the preserve. They were almost right against the hillside when the track disappeared and Derek told Stiles to pull over.

"Where are we going?" the younger man had asked twice, but the werewolf only gave him a sphinxlike smile.

"This is not some secret werewolf murder the human in the forest ritual, I hope?" Stiles asked as they got out of the car. "Because I'm not wearing my red hoodie, so you can dispense with any fairy-tale allusions. And I don't have the picnic basket either, my Grandma is dead and there's no cottage in the woods here."

"Shut _up_ , Stiles," said Derek wearily and grabbed him by the hand, yanking him along onto the barely-visible footpath that disappeared into the dense foliage. Derek ambled happily along while Stiles frowned. Although it was cool under the treetops he was getting sweatier and a bit uncomfortable from the sudden workout the walk was giving him on a full belly.  He caught the scent of fresh Derek-perspiration and the werewolf's cologne mixing with the damp air of the forest and it smelt _amazing_ , and it certainly wasn't making the brunet feel at ease, as it were.

Stiles was about to protest when the forest suddenly cleared and the sunshine hit them like a golden wall. Below them stretched a small clear blue lake, flanked on one side by the forested hills and on the other by a long stretch of narrow pebbled beach where the treeline stopped suddenly.

“Oh. My.”

Derek smiled. He looked proud.

“Wait. Is this Caradoc Lake? I’ve seen it on the map, but I’ve never been here.”

“Yeah,” said Derek. “You wouldn’t have. It’s officially in the Northern Preserve so it’s off limits to the public. But our land borders it, so we were always sneaking off and messing about here.”

“Awesome.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” said Derek, running down the grassy bank and peeling off his clothes.

_Of course the wolfman would go au naturel._

There was a whoop, and a splash, and the werewolf was in the water. “Come on in, Stiles!” he yelled, doing lazy strokes with his arms.

Stiles gulped and ran up to the shore, stripping down nervously. _I’m about to go skinny-dipping with Derek Hale?!_ In the end modesty got the better of him and he kept his navy-blue boxer-briefs on, wading in slowly until the water was waist-deep. He was so absorbed in staring at the breathtaking surroundings that he didn’t notice Derek swimming underneath the surface towards him.

“Gotcha!” yelled Derek as he suddenly jumping up in front of Stiles, picking him up by the waist as if he were a small child and launching him like a flailing, screaming projectile several feet towards the centre of the lake.

“Fuck you, Hale!” Stiles screamed after he surfaced and recovered from what felt like his brain being washed out through his nostrils by a firehose. His hair was plastered to his face so that he looked like a wet Old English Sheepdog.

Derek was clutching his belly he was laughing so hard.

“You should have seen your face,” he chuckled, trying very hard to suppress some rather girly giggles that bubbled up between the cackles and guffaws. “It was priceless.”

Stiles came up to him and splashed him in the face a couple of times, but he was smiling now too.

“Bad dog!” he yelled, smirking. “Bad dog!”

“Sorry,” said Derek, totally not meaning it.

“Well, I’ve learnt two things now. One, that you can actually swim, because the last time we were in a body of water together you kind of sucked at it. And two, what it feels like to be thrown by a werewolf and actually consciously recall it. It was... kind of cool, actually. I mean, if one could minus the sheer terror and thoughts of imminent death.”

“I was just getting warmed up,” said Derek, shrugging, his muscles glinting with obscene beauty in the sunlight. “Another?”

“Wait. Now. Wait. NO! Der-”

This time, Stiles swore he was flying for a few seconds above the water. There was a brief instant when the sunlight glinted off the lake and ricocheted off his face, so that in the iridescence it felt like he was floating through an infinite plane of light and heat.

He couldn’t remember when last he felt so unashamedly _alive,_ so _free_.

They horsed around and swam for a good half an hour and then waded back to the shore, Stiles trying very hard not to eyefuck Derek as the werewolf wiped himself dry with his T-shirt and pulled his boxers and jeans back on. (Stiles, of course, had to take off his wet underwear and go commando, which was just plain  _weird_  for him.)

They sat on a rock talking shit and sunning themselves for a while until Derek realized it was time they went home if Stiles was going to be on time with his tête-à-tête with Scott.

“One moment,” said Derek, grabbing his shoes. “My sneakers are full of mud... I’m just going to rinse them in the stream over there.”

Stiles waited, leaning against the tree while Derek walked off, enjoying having a full view of his torso from the back without having to be caught staring.

Derek bent down, and then Stiles saw him tense every muscle and give out a low growl.

“Derek?”

Stiles ran up to him. Derek was standing perfectly still, fangs bared, poised as if ready to pounce.

“What’s wrong?”

“Blood,” said Derek.

“Whoa. Dude. What do you mean?”

Derek furrowed his brow as his fangs retracted.

“There’s blood in the water. Faint, but it’s there. The whole stream’s laced with it.”

“Okay,” said Stiles, trying not to sound too freaked out, “what kind of blood? Are we talking some coyote killed a squirrel or Jason got resurrected?”

“I don’t know. It’s too dilute to tell. Definitely a mammal. But at least a mile from here.”

“Do we need to go have a look? I'm going for the coyote and squirrel explanation.”

Derek took a deep breath and finally let himself relax. “You're right. I’m probably over-reacting. This is a wildlife preserve after all. No-one goes here.”

“Except werewolves and their all-too-trusting friends.”

Derek’s eyes brightened as Stiles said “friends”.

“Come on,” the younger man added. “Let’s get home. We both need to look civilized before we confront our respective wolves errant.”

They drove back in comfortable silence, windows down, letting the wind and forest light wash over them, as if they were traveling down the nave of a giant green cathedral. Stiles was almost sad as they pulled up in front of his house; the whole morning had unfurled into a lush idyll.

They were back in good time. In ten minutes Derek emerged from the bathroom looking, as always, irritatingly stylish (Stiles found himself thinking sure, the Henleys are cool but, my God, he looks shit-hot in a button-down shirt).

“I don’t do this for just anybody,” said Stiles as Derek ran down the stairs, “but you can take the Jeep to go to Isaac. Scott and I will probably be here for a long time, because I’m going to make him apologize for at least two hours.”

“You never let anyone drive your car.”

“I know. But I reckoned if you could hurl me thirty feet without braining me on anything you must have some sort of co-ordination. Anyway. Here. And I suggest you take Isaac for pizza. He’ll do anything for anchovies.”

“Thanks,” said Derek, looking genuinely touched as Stiles handed him the keys.

“No clawing the upholstery though. And no bleeding inside the car.”

“Yes, mom,” said Derek, and then stiffened in the hallway, sniffing the air.

“What, is Scott here already?”

“No... it’s not Scott. It’s...”

The bell rang, and Stiles walked past him and opened the door.

It was Allison. She was wide-eyed and pale.

“Allison?” said Stiles. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Scott,” she said, half-hysterical, grabbing him by the shoulders. “He’s missing.”

“Missing?”

“He... he went for a run in the woods this morning... he hasn’t been back... and then I had this horrible, like, vision of Scott cold and alone and hurt...”

 Stiles hugged her and motioned her inside.

“Oh fuck,” he said.

_So much for a perfect day._

He was floating, again. Even as the summer sun beat down, it was snowing inside.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So finally. The first twist in the tale.
> 
> I've tried to fit in some werewolf lore without trying to sound too heavily encyclopaedic, but figured it would be apt to suggest that the first werewolf came about around the same time as the domestication of the wolf. The Greek myth of King Lycaon is too much of a depressing tale in my mind for him to be regarded as the ur-werewolf (changed into a wolf for enraging Zeus by serving the god a dish made from his own dismembered son!), as then it implies the first werewolf was unequivocally evil.
> 
> Deucalion, interestingly, is one of the sons of Prometheus, who survives the deluge Zeus rains down on Lycaon's kingdom as retaliation for the king's evil deeds... he and Prometheus build a wooden chest. Major parallels with Noah's Ark as you can see.
> 
> Similarly I'm keeping to the view that the Beast of Gévaudan was not a typical werewolf; as Derek says in one of the episodes, "We're predators, not murderers." [Compare the character of Vijav Alezeis (Om Puri) giving Will Randall (Jack Nicholson) advice in the lovely 1994 film "Wolf": "The demon wolf is not evil, unless the man himself is evil."]


	11. You Better Not Go Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you orient the map with your compass?” asked Lydia, who had taken out her compact and was putting on lipstick.
> 
> "Uh, yeah," said Stiles. "Why?"
> 
> “Then use it to guide us to the stream and then we follow it to where the last fix was, dummy.”
> 
> Stiles couldn’t help sighing as the fuzzies bubbled around his system. He loved this brilliant girl so much. Lydia Martin; 367 488 swoons served and counting. He twitched when it occurred to him that the fuzzies were very similar to what he was lately feeling for a certain leather-jacket wearing, peripatetic and lasagne-cooking werewolf.

“I drove straight here,” said Allison as Stiles guided her to the den. She was shaking, and hardly registered that Derek was there. “I knew something was up when he didn’t pitch up for brunch. He wasn’t answering my calls or texts. I just had this horrible feeling this morning, after he told me that the two of you had had  a fight...”

“Wait,” said Stiles, as Derek went into the kitchen to get her a glass of water. “Did he tell you where he was going running? He normally goes to the woods across from his house.”

“He told me he was going to go along the Northern Preserve boundary for a change of scenery.”

“Oh fuck,” mouthed Derek as he and Stiles exchanged nervous glances with each other across the corridor.

"What?" asked Allison. "What's wrong?"

“Nothing,” Stiles lied. “We were in the Northern Preserve this morning... um... I know, let me go check the network and call my dad’s deputy if necessary. He owes me one after I set up his son’s gaming system for him... and let me see if I can locate Scott’s phone on GPS.”

“That’s why I came,” said Allison. “I’m too freaked out to think of stuff like that.”

Stiles jogged upstairs to fetch his laptop, while Allison and Derek looked awkwardly at each other.

“Um, hi,” said Derek, handing her the glass of water.

“Hi,” she said, and took a gulp. “It’s been quite a while.”

Her voice was perfunctory, and Derek nodded stupidly.

They both opened their mouths about to say something, when Stiles scurried back in, plonking the laptop on the counter and motioning them to come over. He clattered impatiently on the keyboard as he waited for the system to log him into Scott’s find-my-device service. He blew out his cheeks with relief as he noted that Scott’s password was, after two years, still “allison”, even though he’d pleaded umpteen times with his friend to update to use something more secure. He also rolled his eyes when the Beacon Hills PD server let him in without the slightest hesitation, as if he were taking cybercandy from an electronic baby.

“Oh dear,” said Stiles, as the GPS focused its crosshairs bang in the middle of the Northern Preserve next to a bend in one of the mountain streams that fed Caradoc Lake.

“Looks like his phone’s been there for the past few hours,” he continued, calling up the event log.

“What are you saying?” said Allison.

Derek and Stiles looked at each other again, and Derek balled his fists.

“It’s probably nothing,” Derek said as calmly as he could, “but while we were at the lake I picked up a scent of something in the water.

“Oh no,” Allison whispered. “Do you think... the GPS is pointing right next to the stream.”

“It could be anything, Alli,” Stiles countered. “It’s Scott, after all? He’s constantly losing things. He could just be having some Alpha Alone Time and forgot about his plans with you, I mean he forgot your anniversary didn’t he? He’ll probably pitch up soon with a ditzy smile and we can guilt-trip him into dinner.”

“Ok,” said Allison, desperately trying to believe him.

Stiles tabbed onto the BHPD intranet and brought up the list of active call-outs.

“Nope. Nothing near the Northern Preserve called out. No new missing person reports either.”

“Not that that means anything,” said Derek.

“Hey, Sourwolf, I’m trying to keep things positive here. But yeah. Let’s check it out tout suite. Derek, you know the woods better than any of us.”

“And I think we should call the whole pack together,” said the werewolf. “Better overreact than be passive.”

“I told Lydia already,” said Allison.

“Good,” said Derek. “Let’s go so long to my place, it’s the quickest access and I know all the back roads. Call Isaac and the twins. We should get them to track Scott’s scent from his house.”

“Great idea,” said Stiles, grabbing his keys as the others followed him out the door.

  

 

 

* 

Allison played secretary, messaging and calling as they drove back to Derek’s house where Lydia was waiting for them. She calmly finished filing a nail as the Jeep pulled up next to her car, getting out without looking up. Stiles got out and balked as she opened her trunk and hauled out... a crossbow.

“Here you are,” she said, waving to Allison who was sitting quietly in the back seat. “I took the liberty of going past your house. I thought it might come in handy.”

“You are the Queen of Awesome,” said Stiles, opening the door for the strawberry blonde.

“I know,” she said, blowing the brunet a kiss as she sat down next to Allison, completely ignoring Derek who was sitting looking very uncomfortable in the front passenger seat.

Stiles got back in and started the car and flashed a wide grin to Lydia via the mirror.

“Um, take the road to the lake,” said Derek, trying to make sense of the GPS lock on Stiles’s phone. “There’s a track to the stream you’ll be able to drive to at least half of the way.”

“It’ll be okay,” Lydia said, taking Allison’s hand, sensing her best friend’s anguish because she was doing that thing where she pulled at a lock of her hair rhythmically.

“Thanks,” the dark-haired girl said quietly.

Nobody spoke of their shared fear. The past six months were just too good to be true, weren’t they?

“So,” said Stiles, switching on his joke voice after they had driven half a mile, “isn’t this just another exciting adventure for the gang in the Mystery Machine?”

The gag fell flat. That Derek didn’t even growl with derision made things worse.

“Drive faster, Stiles,” said Lydia, but gently.

“I can smell him, said Derek suddenly, eyes flashing as Stiles stopped the Jeep at the last navigable portion of the track. The forest was denser and darker here than he’d ever seen it. The quartet got out and shivered simultaneously as the chill settled around them.

“I’ll go ahead,” the werewolf said, turning around to face the other three. “If you guys will be okay.”

“I’ll scream,” said Lydia, rolling her eyes and finally acknowledging Derek’s presence. “Plus I have this,” she added, whipping out a taser from her handbag. It was _pink_.

“Plus we have the reigning Miss Crossbow and GoogleDude to guide the way,” added Stiles. Derek huffed and bounded off in an unnecessarily melodramatic heap.

“Oh, shit,” said Stiles suddenly.

“What?” asked Allison.

“No 3G. Or EDGE. I can’t lock on Scott’s phone.”

“Can you orient the map with your compass?” asked Lydia, who had taken out her compact and was putting on _lipstick_.

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

“Then use it to guide us to the stream and then we follow it to where the last fix was, dummy.”

Stiles couldn’t help sighing as the fuzzies bubbled around his system. He loved this brilliant girl so much. Lydia Martin; 367 488 swoons served and counting. He twitched when it occurred to him that the fuzzies were very similar to what he was lately feeling for a certain leather jacket-wearing, peripatetic and lasagne-cooking werewolf.

“Brilliant, Miss Martin,” said Stiles, telling the flurry of confused thoughts in his brain that there would be ample time for evaluating the Kinsey Scale later.

Stiles was particularly fidgety as they coursed through the undergrowth, grateful that he could see sunlight ahead and the distant rush of the stream gradually getting louder and louder. He started humming to soothe himself.

“Stiles. Of all the tunes. Really.”

“Yes, it’s not funny,” echoed Lydia.

“What? Oh. The Teddy Bear’s Picnic.”

_If you go down to the woods today, you better not go alone..._

“Sorry.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and Allison shrugged her shoulders. They reached the stream without too much trouble.

“Okay,” said Stiles, pausing to catch his breath. “Now we should...”

Derek’s howl cut him short, echoing across the forest floor in a rumble. All three jumped.

“Quick!” said Allison, and took off upstream with Stiles and Lydia in rapid succession.

“Is he injured?” Lydia asked Stiles as they jogged, while a second, much closer howl bled into the air.

“No, that’s a signaling howl,” Stiles answered, panting. “He’s obviously found something.”

“It sometimes scares me how well you speak wolf,” she said lightly. “I could use some tips.”

Stiles started sniggering but stopped gobsmacked when he noticed that Lydia was not only ahead of him, but wearing _heels._

“How do you do that?” he said, but before Lydia could answer him, they caught sight of Derek.

He was kneeling down, staring at the neatly folded blue tracksuit at the base of the tree.

Allison covered her mouth.

“It’s Scott’s, isn’t it?” said Derek quietly.

Stiles nodded. A horrid emptiness settled itself in the pit of his stomach and started tugging.

“His favourite,” Allison added quietly.

“It’s like his disappeared,” said Derek. “The scent ends here. Nothing else.”

“Wait,” said Lydia, “there are footprints.”

“Jesus, you’re right,” said Stiles.

Derek winced. “Didn’t notice them. Shit... no wonder... it doesn’t smell like Scott at all.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Lydia said, running off. She jogged straight along the footprints that led her round a bed down to the bank of the stream.

Then she saw the body, and screamed.

The others were there in seconds. 

“Oh my God,” said Stiles, “is that...”

“Scott!" cried Lydia. " _No_! I can see his tattoo!”

Allison was sobbing hysterically, dropping down to her knees and keening. “Tell me it isn’t true... tell me it isn’t true.”

“Let me do this,” said Derek, walking calmly up to the body and motioning Lydia to go to Allison.

He bent down and shuddered as he saw the familiar torso and the striped tattoo around the bicep.

_Oh God, no. No, no, no._

_"_ Stiles," he said calmly. "I need you here. We need to turn him around."

“S-Scott?” Stiles said, trying to fight back the tears that were pooling in his eyes. It couldn’t be. Yet there he was...

A panic attack threatened, deep inside him. He thought of Scott. He couldn’t do this now, not for his friend. He took a very deep breath and nodded at Derek and joined him at the body.

“We have to turn him around. You hold and stabilize his neck, and I’ll roll.”

They turned the body in one fluid movement.

Stiles shrieked very inelegantly when he saw the bloated, cyanotic face and the gash on the forehead where blood had been seeping out into the stream.

“What!?” cried Allison. “Oh my God, he’s dead, isn’t he... oh God...”

Derek and Stiles stared at the body and then at each other.

"It's not Scott," the werewolf said evenly.

Allison shook as she ran up to the body and stared down at it.

_It wasn't him._

"I... I..." the girl said, wiping her eyes. "Oh thank God! No! I mean... that's wrong! I... I..."

"'It's okay, I know what you mean," said Stiles, going up to Allison and wrapping an arm around her protectively. "You're relieved that it isn't Scott but you're horrified at what happened to this poor guy. Oh _shit_ , we should at least do CPR..."

Derek placed his fingers on the man's neck, and shook his head grimly.

"Not going to help," he said. "He's been dead for at least a couple of hours. I just don't get it. He _looks_ like Scott, for sure; same hair, same _tattoo_ , probably same age, but it definitely isn’t Scott. And he doesn’t smell like anything either. No scent, except for blood. Scott's scent ends with the clothes.”

“Okay,” said Stiles, trying very hard not to dissolve into a puddle of freak-out. “We need to call the police. At least the deputy, because he is privy to our pack and this person’s death needs to be investigated. Why Scott’s clothes are here makes no sense.”

“I’m on it,” said Lydia, taking out her phone. "I seem to have a signal. Stiles, why don’t you see if you can get Scott’s phone?”

“Lydia, I said I can’t... oh wait, now I have full on 3G. Homing on... it’s just a few feet away.”

Lydia led Allison away from the grisly scene. Stiles dialled Scott’s number and, sure enough, he heard  _The Raiders' March_  playing. Stiles suddenly spotted the phone lying in the mud on the opposite side of the tree.

“Gotcha,” he said, picking the handset up and turning it around to silence it.

"What the..."

The phone was ringing, but it was switched off.

It _kept_ on ringing as Stiles ended the call on his own phone.

In fact, the ringing was getting louder.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Teddy Bears' Picnic" is a song from my childhood that both enthralled me and freaked me out. Somehow it seemed appropriate for Stiles to have a daft moment and hum it while the others were worrying about Scott's disappearance.
> 
> Hopefully I'm hooking you all... I'm having much fun seeing what a complex plot and story arc has suddenly revealed itself to me. It may prove to be a bumpy ride... as always, I REALLY appreciate feedback from you guys and am so grateful for all the support I've had so far! Am loving writing this.


	12. Mothers and Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two mothers have tea, and a family prepares to go on what might be their last big adventure together.

"I just wanted to thank you for what you did for my son," the raven-haired woman said, taking a long sip of her coffee. 

"Not at all." The other woman's hair was wavier, shorter, and her chestnut eyes were a warm counterpoint to her companion's grey-blue ones. "It's been tough for him, hasn't it?"

Talia Hale nodded. "He's my sensitive one. Always has been. I know he puts on this... swagger... I think it's because he hero-worships his brother for one thing, but he'd never acted out like this before."

"It's fine. It was a prank that went awry. Derek was the only one who owned up 

"Derek's always said you were his favourite teacher when you were still full-time. I'm so grateful that you were substituting for Mr Bedford. I don't think he would have used such discretion when it happened. Please, my husband and I will pay for all the damages."

"It was just a broken bell jar and nobody was injured. And Derek cleaned the mess up himself after he'd calmed down. He's already insisted on paying it back with his allowance. He's not a destructive child. I think the frog dissection sent him over the edge, when he saw the frogs being euthanised. I should have been more sensitive."

"Thank you for being so understanding. And it seemed he really opened up to you. He's been talking about it to us for the first time since it happened."

Claudia Stilinski nodded, and felt a little chill as she thought of how Derek had clung desperately to her, sobbing his heart out when he saw the frog die... it almost sounded like a _howl_... and threw the entire mess against the wall before he ran out screaming into the hallway. H e knew the moment the creature's heart stopped beating, because in his mind a dark shadow with hollow eyes and yellow teeth swooped down on his thoughts and perched there, waiting... watching... whispering...  _I'm coming again, and I'm coming again soon..._

"I'm glad," Claudia said, pouring herself more tea. 

"You have a son, don't you?" asked Talia.

"Yes. He's ten. And I know all about boys acting out. He's also a sensitive one, I sometimes think his mind is way too busy for his little body. How do you manage, with five children, if you don't mind me asking? When I've seen your family around, you seem so in control."

Talia smiled. "I grew up in a big family. I guess you just get used to it. Sure, they're a handful, and I had to give up my dreams of being a concert pianist, but it works out."

"We struggled for a long time to have children," Claudia said softly. "Eventually we stopped trying. Then Stiles came. Like this wonderful, unplanned gift from above. I just wish he could have had siblings."

"I suppose sometimes when you stop worrying, what you wanted comes around when you least expect it. My mother believed that."

"I need to stop worrying," the younger woman said, looking away suddenly. "I wish I could go back to full-time teaching, but to be honest, Mrs Hale, I've been ill..."

Talia grasped Claudia's hand, who relaxed when she felt the warmth of her skin. "Please call be Talia," she said gently. "I heard. It must be difficult. But I understand you're in remission?"

Claudia nodded, and took a deep breath. "That's what they say. My husband looks so desperate, though, frightened that it might come back at any moment. And my son's started having nightmares. I feel healthy, though..."

"I think you're an incredibly brave person," the dark-haired woman said, and stared intently at Claudia. "I can't offer much, but I think it helps to talk. Get out more. You're doing both yourself and your family a disservice if you try and be everything for them 24/7."

"You're so easy to talk to, and I'm the one with guidance counsellor training." 

Talia laughed. "So are you. It's nice to get out. I love our house in the woods, but it's nice to talk to others. My husband's job demands that he's often away for long stretches."

"Well, we should definitely do this again. I swear, for the past hour, I haven't even thought of cancer."

Talia squeezed Claudia's hand. "Have you thought about getting away? Maybe taking your family somewhere?"

"John has been threatening, actually. He wants to take us somewhere exotic, you know, to celebrate me getting better. And I think it would be a wonderful experience for Stiles."

"Get him to come to the travel agency," Talia said, smiling. "I work there three mornings a week... I need it for my sanity. I could organise you very good deals on all sorts of options. And you could make him think that it was his idea all along. 

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Claudia said. A lightness was flooding through her, talking to this woman with the intense eyes. The Hales were a quiet, almost secretive family that kept very much to themselves. Claudia had heard some frankly mean comments from people in Beacon Hills about them. Derek had probably needed to withstand taunts and jeers from kids at school. After the incident in the biology lab, the headmaster had told her that he remembered once that Derek had once been spotted crying in the boys' bathroom after some kid had told him that his family were a bunch of inbred hillbillies. After that, the boy had become standoffish, keeping to himself, until he met the brown-haired girl who played the cello, and colour seemed to return to his life, even if it was for just a few months, until...

"I was thinking," Claudia added after she broke from her reverie, "have you considered sending Derek for some counselling? We sent Stiles to a therapist after he was diagnosed with ADHD, and it seemed to help."

Talia sighed, knowing that her son wouldn't be able to divulge everything. "I've considered it, but Derek doesn't trust people much. It’s... complicated. Our family’s rather traditional."

"I understand. Trust me, I have stubborn parents from Eastern Europe. But he is always welcome to talk to me. I'm taking over Mrs Brown's maths classes while she's away on maternity leave, so I'll be around."

"You're very kind. I'll bear it in mind. Now... I think we should both spoil ourselves and try the cheesecake."

"Why not," said Claudia, and waved to the waiter.

 

*

A few days later, John Stilinski walked cheerfully into his home and kissed his wife and son hello.

“Hi honey,” Claudia said. “What’s all that stuff you’re holding?”

“Holiday plans! I went to the travel agency after work, like you said. Come look. Talia Hale has some amazing ideas.” 

“Yay!” Stiles shouted, jumping up and down. “Where are we going?” 

Claudia turned the gas down so that the pasta sauce was now on a low simmer, and looked smiling through the brochures. 

“Thailand?” said Claudia. “That’s very far away.” 

“It’s on the other side of the planet!” Stiles said excitedly, grabbing one of the pamphlets. “They have tigers there! And temples and islands and these big statues called Buddys...”

“ _Buddhas_ ,” Claudia corrected, ruffling her son’s hair. 

“I’m keen,” said John, beaming. “We haven’t really travelled since before Stiles was born. And he’s old enough now to appreciate a big adventure. And I can afford it. Talia’s pulled some strings and we can fly to London first for not much extra and spend a few days with my cousin in Greenwich.” 

“Where time comes from!” the young boy chimed in, and his parents laughed. 

“It sounds wonderful, my love,” Claudia said, kissing her husband on the cheek.  

“Daddy,” said Stiles, putting down his Darth Vader action figure, “how long does it take to get there?” 

“Come, let me get the atlas and I’ll show you,” the Sheriff said smiling, and winked at his wife. 

Claudia smiled sadly to herself, stirring the pasta sauce and taking a sip of wine. As she swallowed, her hand twitched, and the glass fell out of her grip, shattering onto the floor.

"Shit!" she said to herself, and fetched the broom. As she started sweeping up the mess, she swore she felt a chill descend on the kitchen. 

She didn't think much of it until she discarded the shards into the garbage bin and a piece of glass she missed sliced through her index finger. As she rinsed the cut under the tap, she felt goosebumps trailing down her back and arms.

_Go away from here, whatever you are, return from whence you came._

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the gas flame had been turned back to full and the pasta sauce was burning.

_Anima Christi, sanctifica me. Corpus Christi, salva me. Sanguis Christi, inebria me. Aqua lateris Christi, lava me._

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

When she opened them, the gas was off, the windows were open and sunlight was streaming in. The chill had disappeared as quickly as it had come.

It had happened before. Stiles's windows seemed to open and close themselves randomly; lights would switch themselves on and off. Shelves in the fridge would be magically rearranged. Stiles's Deda was adamant that there were spirits in the house and chided John for not choosing a bigger house for his daughter.

John, of course, did not believe in the supernatural; he didn't understand the missals and rosaries and icons that Claudia always had with her other than sure, they were quite beautiful. She only insisted that the family come to Easter and Christmas mass, because they were the highlights of the liturgical year and John Stilinski was a fourth-generation descendant of devout immigrants from Cracow. 

She leaned on the counter and looked through to the den, where John and Stiles were poring over the atlas.

Somehow, she knew that this would be the last big holiday they’d be taking together. 

 


	13. Demon Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s wrong?” said Derek, coming up to his side, catching him by the hand just before he dropped to the ground. “Jesus, Stiles, you’re freezing.”
> 
> “I don’t know,” he said. He was pale and clammy. “Do you smell that?”
> 
> “Smell what?” said Derek, sniffing, as Lydia and Allison watched with wide-eyes.
> 
> “It smells like... rotting flesh... shit, I think I’m going to...”

 

from the CODEX LUPUS

XXXVIII: ON MATES

 

The **Mate** of a Werewolf is his or her **One True Love**. Like wolves, mated werewolves bond for life; there is no other for either one, and most will not live long after the death of their significant other. The bond is different from, but complimentary to **Marriage** , which usually will follow the local custom or religious preferences of the couple concerned; there is however no equivalent of divorce in terms of being mated. Mating may be between werewolves or between a werewolf and a **Human** , the latter has occurred since time immemorial, and such couples are key to maintaining balance in packs and anchoring werewolves towards their **Humanity.** If a werewolf chooses a human as his or her mate, the human is not bound to reciprocate, however, the bond from the werewolf is permanent and lasts life-long. Formation of the bond often occurs subconsciously at first and the **Inner Wolf** may manifest initially with paradoxical confusion, anger, irritation and inner conflict when around the One True Love. Acute realization may trigger the need for the werewolf to embark on a **Lone Journey** (see also: LXIX **Lone Wolf** ). Rejection by the intended Mate risks the werewolf attaining permanent **Omega** status. In the case of an Alpha mated with a human, the latter can receive the **Bite** at any time and is protected from Bite rejection. Human mates of Alphas assume special status in the pack as the Alpha’s Mate, and may lead the pack when the Alpha is either unavailable fit for duty. There have been reports of such humans also acquiring slightly enhanced sensory awareness, presumably from being around their werewolf Mate. While Marriage has traditionally been practiced in human society between Man and Woman (see: **Human Prejudice** ) matings between two males or two females are not uncommon. Same-sex matings between werewolf and human are historically very rare but are typically characterized by a particularly intense bond between the two. There is no specific ceremony for the status of becoming Mates but commonly the **Emissary** of a pack will usually oversee the exchange of gifts and / or symbolic tokens between the two, for example in werewolves of **Celtic** ancestry.

 

 

*

 

 

“Hello?” said Stiles, pressing the answer button. The phone remained blank.

A strange static hissed in his ear. Stiles shuddered as a chill raced through his body. He dropped the phone, and buckled.

“What’s wrong?” said Derek, coming up to his side, catching him by the hand just before he dropped to the ground. “Jesus, Stiles, you’re freezing.”

“I don’t know,” he said. He was pale and clammy. “Do you smell that?”

“Smell what?” said Derek, sniffing, as Lydia and Allison watched with wide-eyes.

“It smells like... rotting flesh... shit, I think I’m going to...”

Stiles suddenly doubled up and vomited a murky arc, narrowly missing Derek’s feet. “S-sorry,” he said, gasping.

“ ‘S ok,” Derek said gently, helping him up and motioning him to a log by the side of the stream.

“Here,” said Lydia, handing him a packet of Kleenex from her bag. Allison sat down next to him rubbed his back.

Lydia and Derek stared at each other wide-eyed for a few seconds.

“The police are on their way,” the strawberry blonde said eventually.

“Thanks,” said the werewolf, and then cocked his head. “Oh look. The others are here.”

Sure enough, they could just make out Isaac and the twins running towards them a few hundred yards ahead.

 

*

 

The forest floor had soon become a kaleidoscope of whirling police lights and flash photography. The rest of the pack had assembled and were now ambling awkwardly around the cordoned-off zone.

Isaac had quickly picked up Scott’s scent from his house. Once he and the others followed it into the Northern Preserve they found the prints of his running shoes in the mud that had led them to the tree.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Deputy Jones said in a low voice to Derek as the forensics team prepared to move the body to the coroner’s wagon. “The prints leading to the tree are different to those leading from the tree. Different shoe sizes too. It’s as if one person vanished and another appeared in its place.”

“Exactly what we were thinking,” the werewolf said.

“Then again,” she said, “I wouldn’t have expected anything normal when you guys called me. We have to let John know.”

“Do we have to?” asked Stiles, fumbling nervously with a fraying seam on the hem of his T-shirt. He was feeling a bit better and some colour had returned to his cheeks. “Can’t we spare him another supernatural drama?”

“Stiles, it’s going to be hard for me to keep this from the rest of the department. Your dad has the most experience. Part of me still doesn’t want to believe all the stuff I’ve seen this past year.”

Stiles nodded, and Derek squeezed the brunet’s shoulder briefly.

“What do we do now?” the werewolf asked the deputy.

“Well, we’ll file a missing person’s report on Scott, and see if we can identify the body. The official story from you all is that you went wandering in the woods and happened to come upon the body. I can inform Mrs McCall personally.”

“I want to come with,” said Stiles, chewing on his thumb absent-mindedly. “She’ll be home from work soon.”

“Fine,” the small wiry woman said, “that would be helpful. I suggest you all go home now, and we keep in touch. “We’ll have to take Scott’s belongings for evidence.”

“Wait,” said Stiles. “I need to keep his phone.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me on this. I promise I’ll give it back and not tamper with anything.”

The deputy rolled her eyes. “Very well. I’m not going to put it on the report. But you get back to me if you find anything strange. But of course it’s going to be strange. I’ll call you when I’m done at the station and I’ll pick you up to go to Mrs McCall.”

Stiles nodded, and rubbed his temples as the deputy busied herself with wrapping up the scene.

“You ok?” said Derek. “I’m worried about you.”

“Just a headache,” the younger man said. “Nerves, I guess,” he said, attempting a weak smile.

“This phone thing is odd, to say the least.”

“Perhaps when Scott dropped it the screen fucked out and someone was trying to call,” Ethan hedged, who was looking with concern at the human. “I’ll get Danny to hack it.”

“Probably,” said Stiles, trying to convince himself that there was nothing strange about the dread he felt when he heard the static.

“There’s nothing more to see here,” said Aiden, who had suddenly appeared next to his brother, looking irritated. Stiles stared at him curiously, raising an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Stiles swore he sensed Derek’s eyes flashing briefly.

“Um, Adie,” said Lydia soothingly in the distance, “why don’t we go to the movies this evening? Your choice.”

Her boyfriend looked up, pursing his lips and nodding.

“Sorry about my brother,” Ethan said to Stiles as the other twin walked away. “He’s been a bit pissy for some reason today.”

“No prob,” said Stiles. “It’s been a weird day for all of us.”

“Come,” said Derek. “I’ll drive you and Allison and Lydia home. Wolves ok to run back?”

Isaac and Ethan nodded.

“Kay,” said Stiles. “Normally I’d bitch about how the fragile humans need special assistance, but I’m not saying no.”

 

*

 

 

Stiles was exhausted. Melissa was understandably quite upset, but calmed down when Derek and Stiles reminded her that the pack had gone through worse adventures, such as the time when Scott was kidnapped by an angry mob of faeries for a whole week over a territorial dispute.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” said Derek, his eyes still fixed on watching a documentary about the Korean War on the History Channel. “You’ve been collapsed on the couch for three hours and haven’t complained about me channel hopping at all.”

“It’s stupid,” said Stiles sleepily, “but...”

“Try me.”

“I, um, don’t want to go to bed. I’m scared of being alone and having...”

“Bad dreams?” said Derek gently. “I totally understand that. Today’s been pretty freaky. That thing with Scott’s phone was just weird. But I’m down the hallway, you know, just shout.”

Stiles nodded and looked away.

“Or... do you want me to... stay with you? Doesn’t bother me.”

“Um...”

Derek walked up to the couch and sat on the edge. “I often shared beds with my brother. Like you and Scott. Nothing weird. Especially with werewolves, we like to be close.”

“Um. Okay,” Stiles said in almost a whisper. “I feel like a ten-year old, though.”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“What? And risk me making dog jokes that you’d never live down?”

Derek chuckled. “I learnt in psych that proximity affects sleep rhythms. Calms things down.”

“Anxiolysis,” said Stiles.

“Impressive.”

“You’re looking at someone who’s spent a lot of time in psychiatrist’s and therapist’s offices. And been on lots of medications.”

“At least you know the difference between psychiatrist and therapist.”

Stiles shrugged. “So tell me, Big Bad, what made you want to be a therapist?”

“Actually, your mom,” Derek said quietly.

“Huh?”

“She taught me in elementary school,” the werewolf said.

“Oh my God,” said Stiles, sitting up. “That would make sense... before she went part-time after she got ill the first time.”

“Yes. She was one of my favourite teachers, you know. Once she substituted at high school for a few weeks in Biology. We were doing dissections on frogs and I kind of... freaked out.”

The werewolf looked uncomfortably out of the window as he recalled the incident.

“It _is_ quite a gross thing. Did you want to set them all free like Elliott did in _E.T._?”

The werewolf blushed.

“Actually, yes. But I ended up breaking a few things.”

Stiles managed a chuckle. “So, what does this have to do with therapy?”

“She didn’t get upset, but spoke to me gently afterwards. I sort of just opened up and talked about all sorts of things that had been... bothering me at the time. Bad things. I was going through... some stuff.”

“I understand,” said Stiles. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“Anyway,” Derek continued, “I was amazed how much better I felt. She was so easy to talk to. And you know, you might not believe it, I’ve always been a good listener. I thought that it might be cool to do that for people one day... so I got interested in psychology, and my grades were good enough to get into NYU.”

"Did you enjoy New York?"

“Yeah. It was probably the best thing I did after the fire. There was nothing really left for me in Beacon Hills. I felt guilty at first, because Peter was in the care home, but Laura insisted. And for a few years... it was good, all that bright lights and big city.”

Stiles brought his knees to his chest and narrowed his eyes. “I know you said it doesn’t matter, but how close were you to finishing?”

“Um, I just needed one semester and a mini-dissertation. But then Laura died and I had to come back here.”

“Dude, you should totally go and finish! I’m certain they’d let you...”

Derek grunted bitterly. “I don’t think so. What good will it do me? Things are different now. Cora’s got a chance, now; I’ve got to look out for her.”

“You can’t keep putting yourself last all the time, Sourwolf.”

 _But that’s what you do, Stiles,_ the werewolf nearly shot back. Instead he looked away and ran a hand awkwardly through his hair.

“Just think about it, ok?” Stiles hedged. “Soon we’re going to be all over the place, and you’ve got allegiance to a pack again, so as I understand it doesn’t matter _where_ you are for a while, isn’t it? You don’t have alpha matters to attend to.”

“If I say I’ll think about it, will you stop pestering me?” Derek said, swallowing.

“Sure,” said Stiles, grinning briefly before his face became serious.

“What’s it?” the werewolf asked.

“I’m feeling cold again. It happens sometimes. Not like this afternoon, but... I don’t know what it is. Been happening frequently lately.”

Derek placed his hand against Stiles’s forehead. “You’re right. But it’s not... it’s nothing organic I can pick up, like when you were sick the other day. And youe heart's racing.”

“Damn you werewolves and your stupid werewolf senses.”

“Come,” said Derek, grabbing the brunet’s hand and pulling him up, “get into bed.”

Stiles nodded. “So...” he said, hesitating,  “you’ll be ok about...”

“Staying with you? Of course. I’ll kind of sleep easier knowing you’re all right.”

“Thanks.”

Despite all the domesticity he’d already seen, it was a little bit surreal for the younger man to see Derek Hale _the werewolf_ brushing his –human– teeth at the basin as he waited at the door for him to finish.

Derek was already lying down and thumbing through Stiles’s copy of _A Passage To India_ when the brunet switched off the main light and got into bed. The werewolf shifted slightly to make sure Stiles had enough room next to him.

“You can get under the covers if you want,” Stiles said, settling himself down under the blanket.

“Maybe later,” said Derek, not looking up from the book. “I’m comfortable here.”

“You’re not gonna get cold? Like, um,” – Stiles indicated Derek’s bare chest – “that?”

“I hardly ever get cold,” said Derek.

“Oh yes. Right. Running hot. So, um, you’re into Forster now?”

“He writes very well. I like his style.”

“Yeah. I like it too.”

“How are you feeling? Still freaked out?”

“Less so. I guess we can’t do anything until we hear from the police, now that we know werewolf senses haven’t helped. I’m trying not to think of the worst...”

“Then don’t.”

"Do you think Scott is okay?"

Derek exhaled deeply. “He’s strong, Stiles. He’s a True Alpha, after all. There has to be an explanation.”

Stiles yawned. “You make it sound so simple. So. I’m going to close my eyes... but you’re welcome to keep reading. The light never bothers me.”

"You sure?" 

“Mmm,” said Stiles, closing his eyes. “Nighty-night, Big Bad.”

“Goodnight, Stiles,” said Derek, and without thinking squeezed the younger man’s shoulder. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Stiles drifted off quickly.

Derek read late into the night, finishing the first part of the book before his own eyes were heavy with sleep. It was a relief being transported to colonial India for the best part of two hours, especially with such charming prose. He was now thirsty and gently stepped over Stiles to get himself a glass of water. He stared at the brunet’s sleeping form for a while, watching his slow breaths in wonder.

_He looks like an angel._

Thirst slaked, he shuffled back into bed as quietly as he could, and though he was warm enough the werewolf decided to get under the sheet after all. He moved one hand as close as he could to Stiles’s head and shivered as he brushed the young man’s hair.

_What the hell am I doing?_

He was jolted from his reverie as he spotted the bright twinkling star that he saw through the window. There was moisture in the air, and a small halo had formed around the bright point of light.

Derek tensed.

It was Algol, he realized. The Demon Star.

_It’s just an old legend, he told himself. Rings around stars being bad omens. It’s just the weather._

He closed his eyes, calming himself by focusing on Stiles’s rhythmic breathing. It soothed him instantly.

Within minutes, Derek was asleep.

 

*

 

Three o’clock.

Derek sat bolt upright, growling, claws extended.

The room was icy; his breath frosted.

It was then that he saw the window was bolted shut, and the rosary that had been on Stiles’s nightstand was lying in a pile on the floor.

The brunet was still fast asleep.

 _Go away_ , Derek’s growl said as his eyes flashed blue. _Leave us._

The door slammed shut and Derek yelped. Stiles’s eyes snapped open, staring confusedly at the werewolf.

“What? What?!”

At once, the chill vanished, even as Derek shivered slightly.

“Nothing,” he lied, glancing at Stiles. “It was just a draught. Go back to sleep.”

“Mmh,” said Stiles, and closed his eyes again.

_God Almighty, Derek thought. Not this. Not now._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Algol is an eclipsing binary star known by the ancients as the Demon Star, the root "-gol" is the same source of the English word "ghoul". It was often seen as portending evil, even as it is one of the most beautiful stars in the night sky.
> 
> Thought I'd up the creepiness level for this chapter... I'm hoping to create a sense of slowly increasing dread, so let me know if I've succeeded! But don't worry, all will be revealed!


	14. The Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More clues are revealed, and John Stilinski remembers something terrifying from his past.

Stiles and Derek were at the police station early. They were surprised to find Dr Deaton waiting for them.

“Doc?” said Stiles, raising and eyebrow.

“Hello Stiles,” the vet said, getting up. “And hello Derek. Lydia called me last night and told me what had happened.”

“I thought you were out of town,” said the brunet, scratching his hair.

“I was out of town. But this sounded important.”

“Damn right this is important,” said a voice behind Stiles, who jumped as he turned around.

“Jesus! Dad!”

The Sheriff folded his arms. “Hello to you too, son.”

“When did you...”

“When Deputy Jones called me last night I got up early and drove through this morning. This is all very serious.”

He caught Derek’s eye and nodded at him.

“Hello, Derek. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Sir,” said the werewolf, looking rather uncomfortable.

“Well, it’s lovely having a big old reunion here at the station,” the younger Stilinski started jabbering, “but shouldn’t we get down to business? I believe they’ve already done the autopsy. And I was told that straight by the deputy, I’m surprised no-one’s forbidding me to look at evidence–“

“Stiles,” his father sighed, “I’ve decided long ago you might as well be allowed when it comes to, um, supernatural matters. You would hack or weasel your way in anyway. At least this way I can supervise you.”

Stiles patted his father’s back, smirking. “Shall we relocate this little investigative party to the coroner?”

Derek rolled his eyes.

 _“Hi ho, hi ho,”_ _Stiles sang as they walked down the corridor, “off to the morgue we go...”_

“Stiles, really,” said the Sheriff, while Derek placed a hand over his eyes as if to say, “Seriously, Stiles?”

Dr Fugard was a short little man with Harry Potter glasses and an eerily soft voice.

“Cause of death appears to have been head trauma,” he said, not looking up from his clipboard. “Although he could still have been alive when he fell into the stream, and then drowned.”

“So we are looking at murder,” the Sheriff said, nodding.

“Definitely,” Dr Fugard said. “But there’s something else I need to show you that’s very curious.”

He opened the door to the examination room and let the party through. As they assembled around the body Fugard put on a pair of gloves and lifted the sheet, exposing the naked body.

"Hey," said Stiles, looking away. "Can't we at least spare the dude's dignity?"

The coroner ignored him and pointed to the dead man’s groin. There were three large gashes on the inside of his thigh, and below them, a strange black mark:

## VI

“Animal attack?” said Deaton, looking worriedly at Derek, who furrowed his brow.

_Looks like a werewolf._

“Before you answer that... that mark...” said Stiles. “Is it a tattoo?”

“No,” said Dr Fugard, “look closer at the red raised edges. I’d say this was _branded_ on the body.”

“V, I,” the Sheriff repeated. “Could be initials.”

“Or some kind of calling card,” said Deaton gravely.

“And we have no idea who this kid is,” Derek added.

“I think we do,” said Deputy Jones, bursting through the door breathlessly. “We found something.”

  

 

*

 

“Timothy Pfeiffer,” Jones said, calling up the info on the screen. “I doubted that we’d pick up anything on fingerprints, which we didn’t, but then I tried facial recognition software through the missing person’s database.”

“It certainly looks like him,” said the Sheriff. “But wait... this isn’t in our format.”

“That’s the thing. This is an old missing person’s report. Look at the date.”

 _“2002_?” Stiles said, astonished. “What the fuck?”

“Language, son,” his father said. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know,” said Jones, “but it fits the description. Says here he was 19 years old, went missing 21 June 2001, last seen walking near the Beacon Hills Preserve. Distinguishing marks: striped tattoo on left bicep.”

“Okay, I’m officially spooked,” said Stiles. “His tattoo is exactly like Scott’s. And Scott didn’t pick that stupid tattoo out from a catalogue. He designed it himself. This is... so weird... oh God...”

The young man was breathing rapidly now.

“Stiles?” Derek and the Sheriff said in unison.

“I think... I need to sit down...” he said, his face pale and clammy. “Oh _gross_ there’s that smell again...”

He staggered back, collapsing into the chair behind him. Derek put his hand on the brunet’s shoulder, massaging it gently.

“Slow, Stiles, breathe nice and slow,” the werewolf said softly as the Sheriff knelt beside his son.

“It’s okay, Stiles, it’s okay...”

Stiles fought back the rising terror that was welling up from his core. “Dad... you don’t understand... there’s something bad here... something _awful_... I wish it would fucking _go away..._ ”

A sudden gust of wind swept through the office, rattling the desk and knocking over a framed photograph of Stiles’s mother on the Sheriff’s desk.

“It’s happening again,” Stiles said in a low moan.

“What do you mean?” said his father, grabbing his hand and rubbing it softly.

“It’s been happening more and more frequently. At first I thought it was nothing, maybe roof rats and faulty wiring. Lights switching on and off. My window open and then closed. But now I keep getting cold and smelling these weird smells and Jesus, Dad, that gust of wind just didn’t feel right...”

The Sheriff was pale. “Not again,” he said softly.

“Again?” said Derek.

“It’s happened before,” John replied quietly. “When Stiles was little.”

“It’s a presence,” said Deaton, suddenly agitated. “I... I need to go. Excuse me.”

“Alan?” Jones said, running after him. “Wait!”

But Deaton was gone at top speed.

“Dad... can I go home now... I just want to go home...I don’t want to be near that _body._ I don’t know why but I’m just getting this creeped out feeling.”

“Okay, Stiles. I’ll get someone to take you, okay? But are you sure you’ll be fine on your own?”

“I’ll take him, sir,” said Derek, “and he won’t be alone. I’ll stay with him.”

The Sheriff turned his head to the side. “Very well, Derek, it makes sense. Especially since you are...well versed in other-worldly things, as it were.”

“I still can’t process all this werewolf stuff,” said Jones, “but I second that.”

"I'll be home lunchtime, son, okay? You happy to go with Derek?"

“Yes,” said Stiles, his breathing calmer now. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s coming over me. I feel so _stupid_.”

“Sh,” said Derek, helping the younger man up.

 

 

* 

 

_from the **CODEX LUPUS** _

XCLVI: ON THE SUPERNATURAL: GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS

 

While werewolves provide one form of evidence that the supernatural exists, it has always been the teaching of the **Supreme Council** that belief in the existence of a **Deity** remain a private matter and that the Council will not intervene nor make pronouncements on the validity of such belief(s). Accordingly werewolves have always enjoyed **Freedom of Religion** and, as such, there are many adherents of all the major faiths, particularly **Christianity** , **Judaism** , I **slam** and **Buddhism**. **Catholicism** is particularly well-represented in France and Central Europe; there have always been significant numbers of werewolves who are **Franciscan** monks or priests (see **St Francis of Assisi** ) following the conversion of the **Wolf of Gubbio**. It is the recommendation of the Council that, where werewolves follow religious beliefs, the usual **rites of passage** (e.g. baptism, bris, confirmation) form part of pack life as part of integration with human society, and involvement with **Charity** Work be actively encouraged.

 

Regarding **Good and Evi** l, particular attention should be given to the difference between the terms _daemon_ and _demon_. A **Demon** refers to an evil spirit, usually subservient to Satan (see: Evil One / The Great Beast) while **Daemon** is another name for the unique guardian **Wolf Spirit** each werewolf is tied to. Similarly, on matters of the Soul, there is no difference between the soul of a werewolf and that of a human’s, the soul is not altered, for example, when a human is bitten; both enjoy **Free Will**. As such, whether an individual —human or werewolf— is good or evil, that rests upon the individual’s conscience.

 

*

 

CCIV

MISCELLANEOUS EPHEMERA

 

 

15: THE WITCHING HOUR

Traditionally the veil between the physical world and the spirit world is thinnest at **Three o’clock** in the morning, and in the case of **Hauntings** phenomena are most likely to occur at this time (see: **Poltergeist** ). It is thought that this time is in reference to the **Crucifixion** of **Jesus** , which is traditionally held to have occurred at three in the afternoon. Hence the “witching hour” represents a mockery or insult to the event, as it occurs at a diametrically opposed time. **Spirits** and **Demons** are generally wary or even afraid of werewolves, because of their strong connection to the **Wolf Spirit** , which is why most **Mediums** or **Seers** are humans. That said, spirits are particularly drawn to a human-wolf bond, particularly a pair of **Mates** ; the complimentary energy is said to make them jealous and enraged. Some demonic entities are said to be consumed by the desire to destroy such a bond, in an attempt to bring the energy over to the side of evil. This is thought to be the origin of the **Beast of Gévaudan**. (see also: **Demonic Possession** and **Rite of Exorcism**.)

Note: The “veil” is said to be particularly thin on the nights between the **Summer Solstice** (21 June) and **St John’s Eve** (23 June). Free ingress and egress between both dimensions is theoretically possible if this is also the time of a **Full Moon** at **Perigee**.

 

*

 

DCVII

ON SECURITY OF THE CODEX

 

As the Codex is not just a glossary of important werewolf Lore, but also a compendium of records of pack life, it is essential that it be kept safe. Access to the Codex is generally reserved strictly for Alphas, but may be consulted by select individuals under the Alpha’s supervision. The Codex may be protected by spells cast by the **Pack Emissary** or a similar ally.

 

*

 

MLXVI

PHARMACOPOEIA 

19\. TOXINS: NUX VOMICA

 

 _Strychnos nux-vomica_ or the poison-nut is the source of **Strychnine** , a deadly poison to both humans and, in sufficient doses, to werewolves. When consumed, death is excruciating and horrifying, manifesting with convulsions and later paralysis. Traditionally used by humans to poison bait (countless wild animal casualties) and also in some traditional medicine due to its effects on blood pressure (not recommended.) Augments the potency of **Wolfsbane**. When burnt in combination with **Ephedra** root and **Mistletoe** , the resulting mixture renders werewolves extremely vulnerable to fire resulting in inability to heal from burn wounds.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you following the breadcrumbs? ;) Hope I'm not stringing you guys along too much!


	15. It Twists Like A Pin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are not alone. They never were.

 

“Stop the car.”

“What’s wrong?”

“ _Stop the car, Dad!_ ”

The Sheriff pulled over quickly, the car's tyres screeching in protest. Stiles opened the door and unfastened his seatbelt simultaneously, taking off into the woods like a frightened deer.

“Stiles! Come back!”

John raced after the boy who quickly disappeared into the bowels of the foliage. He cursed under his breath as he jogged along the footpath.

Presently he heard the sobbing and found a small involuted figure underneath the old pine.

“Son...”

“Leave me alone,” Stiles said in a soft squeak, breathing rapidly, his knees drawn to his chest and rocking himself to and fro.

The Sheriff stopped, and put his hand to his mouth. His son looked utterly helpless.

“Is it another panic attack?” John said calmly.

Stiles managed to nod, and screwed his eyes tight.

“Can I do anything?”

Stiles shook his head, clawing his knees.

The wind whipped up, and Stiles tried to drown out the terrible hissing noise in his head by listening to the rhythmic rustling above him. He wiped the hot tears from his face and tried to match his breathing to the swaying of the branches. One two, one two three. One two, one two three. He caught gist of a high tinkle: a voice, perhaps... but as soon as he tried to follow it, it disappeared.

Several moments passed. When Stiles opened his eyes, he noticed his father was sitting next to him, extending a cautious hand towards him.

“Hi, Dad,” the teen said stupidly.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Better. I think.”

“We don’t have to go to the cemetery, son. Want to go back home?”

It had been six months since Claudia’s death, and neither one of them had had the courage to go back to the graveside yet.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Stiles said awkwardly. His voice was finally breaking, his growing limbs ganglier than they’d ever been.

“What are you sorry about?”

“I thought... I thought somehow that if I didn’t go, if I didn’t see the grave... it didn’t exist...”

“Stiles,” John said, stroking his son’s hair. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t want to go. I’m the one who should be sorry... someone said it might help if you came...”

Stiles shrugged, rubbing his eyes.

“Come,” his father said, giving him a hand. “Why don't we invite Scott for a sleepover? We can get takeout.”

“Ok,” the boy said with a faint smile.

_At least I won’t be alone in the bedroom tonight._

_Because something’s been watching me._

 

 

  
*

 

“You know that your mother and I struggled to have children,” said John, looking gently at his son across the dining room table after they had finished lunch.

“I know,” said Stiles, rubbing his temples. He had developed a frank migraine by the time he and Derek had arrived back at his house. The werewolf had ordered him to get into bed and sat with his hand over his forehead for a good few minutes, leaching away the pain until Stiles fell into a deep sleep.

“Pass me your plates,” said Derek, getting up from where he had been sitting next to the younger Stilinski.

“That’s all right, Derek,” said the Sheriff, holding his palm up. “I think you need to hear this too. What I’m about to say is not easy.”

“Spill it, Dad,” Stiles exclaimed.

“There were... complications, with all the miscarriages. We were told the chances of us ever conceiving again were next to nothing. When she fell pregnant with you I was petrified. It was only when you were born that I even dared believe I was a father. You were so _small,_ Stiles...”

He paused briefly to wipe his eyes, and Stiles reached across to give his father’s hand a squeeze.

“She had terrible morning sickness,” the Sheriff continued. “The doctor said it would get better, but even after three months, the slightest thing would make her nauseous. She kept saying she smelt these awful odours in the house.”

“Like rotting meat,” Stiles blurted out.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Never mind, Dad,” Stiles said and clenched his jaw.

“Then the little things started happening... like you said, lights, windows. I remember the kettle used to switch itself on and off. Your mother said there was something in the house, something out to get her. To get you.”

Stiles twitched, horrified, and Derek took a long gulp of his beer.

“Something in the house? Like a ghost?”

“I didn’t want to believe it. You know I’m more of a Discovery Channel man myself. But by the time she was eight months, we were at our wits’ end. And then your mother insisted on calling her cousin.”

“Mad Cousin Lorelei?”

“That’s not very polite, Stiles. But yes.”

“Whatever for?” the younger Stilinski said, throwing up his hands. “I thought she’s a complete nut-job.”

“I used to think that too,” said John softly. “All the people she ripped off with her fake seances and tarot card readings. But she absolutely freaked out when she walked into the house. Like the hairs were literally standing up at the back of her neck. She said we had to do a cleansing.”

“What, like an exorcism?”

The sheriff took a deep breath. “Something like that.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” the Sheriff said. “Nothing at first. I remember we all sat around this table holding hands... your mother, me, Deda, Babi, Father O’Brien, and Lorelei, who started chanting something in Czech, I think. I was the weak link, I didn’t want to believe... but then the table started shaking and then I also smelt the horrible smell, and Lorelei started saying  something about a spirit wanting to take the mother and child’s light away, wanting the light for itself."

"You're shitting me," said Stiles, eyes agog.

"I wish I didn't have to tell you this," his father continued. "Your mother was suddenly screaming in agony.  Before we knew what was happening, your mother had gone into premature labour so we rushed her to hospital and you were born later that afternoon. You had to be put in an incubator for a few weeks."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Stiles shouted, looking positively freaked. "There was a fucking _demonic entity_ after Mom?!" 

"I didn't think you needed to know," the Sheriff said flatly. "I thought it would all go away... which it did, initially."

" _Initially_?"

The Sheriff closed his eyes and was quiet for a moment, as if searching for the right words. "When you were about two years old, I came home early from work one day, and your grandparents were there with cousin Lorelei. Your Deda was having a massive argument with her and your grandmother was holding you and crying.

"Deda kept shouting that they shouldn't have done it, that it was too dangerous, but your mother insisted it was her choice and that she'd do anything to protect you. Lorelei started shouting that they had needed to do _something_ , because the pregnancy had "opened something up". I asked what had happened and everybody ignored me. After that, your grandparents stormed out, Deda muttered something that no deals with the darkness ever worked out well. He drove straight back to Pasadena and didn't speak to your mother or Lori for months. And nobody would give me any explanation. Your mother kept saying to leave it, that I wouldn't believe her anyway and that I had to trust her on this. So I didn't. I'm so stupid, Stiles, I should have done something...but your mother refused to tell me, she said I needed to trust her."

"So you _knew_? You knew all the time that the world wasn't just atoms and molecules? No wonder you didn't freak out that much when I told you about werewolves!"

"I think he was trying to protect you," Derek offered.

"I didn't ask your opinion!" Stiles snapped, his face flushed and angry.

"Your mother made me promise, son."

"This is too much," said Stiles, fisting his hair and getting up. "It's all fucked up. I can't... I can't deal with this now!"

He turned around and ran up the stairs.

"Leave him," the Sheriff said wearily, as Derek made to follow the brunet. "Just let him be for now."

Stiles ran to the bathroom and tried to puke, but he ended up only being able to dry-retch. What had his mother done? What had happened all those years ago? And why was all of this surfacing suddenly, after life had become simple and pleasant again?

He decided to get into the shower and let the water drown out the rest of the world for a few blissful minutes. He felt guilty about snapping at Derek, about being angry with his dad.

After a small eternity in the shower, he dried himself off and pulled on an old pair of sweats. He closed the bedroom curtains and dove into bed, pulling the covers completely over himself and curling up into the fetal position. The migraine was back. He felt like a pin was twisting itself deeper and deeper, boring a crooked terror into the core of his brain.

_Hello, this is Stiles. I'm off-planet right now so please leave a message after the scream._

  
*

 

"So," said the Sheriff, handing Derek a cup of coffee. "What brings you back to Beacon Hills? We thought you were gone for good."

"I needed to sort out some things at the old house, sir."

"It's John, Derek. And it's good to see you, even under these circumstances."

"Thank you... John," the werewolf said, feeling suddenly shy. "It seems these circumstances have a habit of following me around."

"Well, we could use your help. All this is baffling. And not a little disturbing. Something tells me no amount of regular police work will be able to solve Scott's disappearance."

"I'll do what I can," Derek said. "I suppose the best thing is to get the whole pack together."

"Stronger in numbers, as I understand it."

Derek nodded. "Scott let me join the pack, as I've kind of been on my own. Though I haven't exactly made myself popular with the others."

"They'll come round," the Sheriff said, stirring an illegal second spoon of sugar into his coffee since Stiles wasn't watching. "After all, there are more serious things to consider now. Stiles was very worried about you, you know, while you were gone."

"I know, sir... er... John," Derek said, looking away. "He was angry with me. Understandably."

"I know you two didn't exactly get along, I mean, he made me arrest you... but you did do a lot for my son, and I'm not just talking about you saving his life several times."

"I did?"

"Stiles told me once that he didn't feel scared with this whole werewolf business because you were around. And that Scott was in good hands. I think he looked up to you. Of course I was... cautious at first, but Stiles was excited about meaning something to the pack, even though he said he was always on the outside looking in."

"He was always part of my pack. But I never really told him that."

"It doesn't matter," said the Sheriff. "I guess we need to stand together and think about how we can solve this Scott thing. It seems like he disappeared into thin air."

"I know. Stiles reacted the same way as he did in the morgue when we found the body in the woods yesterday," Derek offered. "It's a long shot, but this Cousin Lorelei, is she around?"

"She lives in Oakland. I haven't seen her in years. Why?"

"I was just thinking," Derek said, "you say she's some kind of medium, or clairvoyant?"

"Yes. I didn't believe it until that incident I spoke of earlier. We lost touch after Stiles's mother died."

"Maybe we should contact her. See if she can sense anything."

"There's no need to contact me, I'm here," said a silky voice as a wispy figure stepped into the kitchen.

Both the Sheriff and Derek did a double-take as they saw the tall red-haired woman with bright green eyes.

" _Lorelei_?" John gasped.

 

 


	16. Lorelei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a sharp crack and tinkle as one of the window panes in the kitchen shattered.
> 
> All three jolted apart.
> 
> “Stop!” Lorelei shouted. She was shaking.
> 
> “What? What is it?” John asked. “What did you see?”
> 
> Lorelei waited for her breathing to calm down.
> 
> “Yes... there are definitely spirits here. Quite a few. Most of them are benign, but they’ve been disturbed. They want to find their way back. It’s like they were at peace, and were torn away from where they were. They’re frustrated.”
> 
> “What would have caused that?” the Sheriff asked, half-horrified and half-fascinated.
> 
> “Something that desperately wants to come through to our side. Something wicked. There is something so hateful around, it’s so angry, it wants to suck on life energy... and it will never be satisfied. I hoped that what Claudia and I did would have made it go away, but it was only temporary...”

“Hello, John,” said Lorelei, plonking her bag unceremoniously down on the counter.

“How the hell?”

“I’m a seer, remember?” she sighed, running a hand through her wild orange tresses and adjusting her horn-rimmed spectacles. “Yesterday I got this funny feeling that I was needed here. So I came. Ta-dah!”

**“** Um,” the Sheriff mumbled, trying to parse the sudden apparition. “Would you... would you like to sit down?”

“Why thank you, John,” she said casually.  She turned her gaze to Derek. “And who’s this fine-looking young werewolf?”

Derek’s eyes widened. “Derek Hale,” he said, cautiously extending a hand.

“Lorelei Dvořák,” she said, gripping his hand firmly. “Claudia’s first cousin.”

“Ms Dvořák,” said Derek, “how did you know I’m...”

“Oh please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Werewolves are _so_ easy to sense. And the wolf runs strong in you; I can feel it across the room... very pure. And Hale, did you say? That’s a very old and respected family around here, I believe.”

Derek looked back and forth between Lorelei and the Sheriff, unsure what to say.

“Well, is one of you going to be a darling and make me a cup of tea? I’m absolutely _dying_ for some.” 

Derek got up. “Of course, ma’am. I’ll get that... you two must have some catching up to do.”

“What a gentleman,” said Lorelei after Derek disappeared round the corner. “There’s something to be said for the way werewolves are raised. Far more polite than most humans.”

“If you say so,” the Sheriff managed, still trying to come to grips with Lorelei’s appearance. Apart from a few crow’s feet, she hadn’t aged at all since he last saw her at Claudia’s funeral. She was wearing a long flower-patterned dress that was torn at the hem and stained with what looked like beach sand, and she smelt heavily of patchouli. She may as well have walked straight out of Woodstock and teleported herself to the Stilinskis in a time machine.

"I get the sense you've been around werewolves for a while now. Is it... is it Stiles?"

“Yes. No. I mean, he’s not a werewolf, but he knows a few. Like Derek. It’s a long story.”

“You must tell me. But not now. So let’s talk turkey. I guess... the _activity_... is it back?”

John sighed deeply and was silent for a while. “It seems like it,” he said, looking lost.

"And Stiles? Is it focused on him?

“He says so. Remember when he used to have those nightmares when Claudia got ill? They’re back.”

“Doesn’t surprise me in the least. Uncle Sig was convinced he’d inherit the gift. That he’d even be more sensitive than me and Claudie.”

“Claudia and I didn’t want Stiles to have to deal with that, while he was growing up.”

“Perhaps. But he’s an adult now, and he’s manifesting. That’s partly why the activity is around again. They’re attracted to him.”

"They? Attracted?" said the Sheriff, who was now drumming his fingers nervously.

“To his light, his power. You know how like his mother her is.”

“ _No_.” The Sheriff baulked, balling his fists. “I’m not losing another family member to all this...I don't know...”

“Relax, John. That’s why I’m here. That’s why this werewolf is here, I’m certain... why _thank_ you young man, that looks delicious.”

Derek smiled awkwardly as he set the cup before her.

“So where is my little cousin? I haven’t seen him in ages, and he's now a strapping young lad of eighteen!”

“He’s not feeling well,” said Derek. “He’s resting upstairs.”

"What a pity. I sense there was a disagreement here earlier. Am I right?"

“He was a bit upset with me, yes,” John answered. “I told him about what happened before he was born. I mean, as much as I know.”

“You kept that from him, all this time?”

Lorelei closed her eyes and was silent for a moment.

“I guess I can’t judge,” she said eventually. “You wanted to shield him. And I haven’t been back here since my cousin passed away. But... we both know that’s another conversation, better had over wine than tea, because right now, there are more pressing things to attend to.”

“What is it?” asked Derek, as he saw here eyes dart to the ceiling.

“There’s so much energy around in the house... it’s hovering in the air all around us. I need to find out as much as I can. Right now, in fact.”

The Sheriff’s face became angry all of a sudden, and he held a hand up.

“Lorelei, you are _not_ doing a séance in my house. You know what happened last time”.

“This is not a séance, I assure you. I just need to concentrate for a bit and get an idea of what’s going on. Right now there’s this loud _static_ I'm picking up, this hissing. I can’t quite explain it.”

“There was static coming from Scott’s phone,” Derek offered, “when we found it in the forest.”

“Scott?” said Lorelei, looking up. “Stiles’s friend? The sweet boy with the dopey expression?”

“Scott went missing yesterday. They found a body where he was last spotted, and the victim looks like him, but it’s not Scott.”

Lorelei’s eyes widened.

“That’s terrible,” she said quickly, and got up, and reached for her bag. “I need a cigarette. Will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Lorelei?” asked the Sheriff as she hurried out the back door.

“Wait,” said Derek, grabbing hold of the Sheriff’s hand as he got up to go after her. “Her heart’s racing. She’s afraid of something.”

“Well, I’ve had enough of all this supernatural cloak-and-dagger bullshit. I want an explanation now.”

“Just let her have her cigarette,” Derek said as soothingly as he could. “I’ll go make some more coffee, ok?”

The Sheriff nodded, clenching his jaw just like Stiles.

 

*

 

“I’m sorry about that,” Lorelei said after she had finished her cigarette. “I don’t know what came over me. Must be the altitude or something. Anyway, would you gentlemen join me at the dining-room table. I’ll need you to anchor me.”

“You said this is not going to be a séance.”

“No, I’m not calling anything up. But I need to have a peek, if you will.”

“Very well,” said John, rolling his eyes. “If you think that’ll help.”

“I think we should take any help that comes our way,” Derek offered, as they followed her to the table.

They sat down and joined hands.

“Now close your eyes and try and calm your thoughts. Focus on something... someone perhaps... that you care deeply about.”

John shrugged, while Derek breathed deeply in and out.

A deep silence hung over the room. Nothing happened for at least a minute, and John felt his thoughts wandering.

There was a sharp crack and tinkle as one of the window panes in the kitchen shattered.

All three jolted apart.

“Stop!” Lorelei shouted. She was shivering.

“What? What is it?” John asked. “What did you see?”

Lorelei waited for her breathing to calm down.

“I was correct... there are definitely spirits here. Quite a few. Most of them are benign, but they’ve been disturbed. They want to find their way back. It’s like they were at peace, and were torn away from where they were. They’re frustrated.”

“What would have caused that?” the Sheriff asked, half-horrified and half-fascinated.

“Something that desperately wants to come through to our side. Something... wicked. There is something so _hateful_ around, it’s so angry, it wants to suck on whatever living energy it can find... and it will _never_ be satisfied. I hoped that what Claudia and I did would have made it go away, but it was only temporary...”

“ _What_?” cried the Sheriff. “What did you and Claudia do, that time? She made me promise that I never ask her what happened. But you can tell me, Lori, you have to tell me! I can’t live with this hovering over me, never knowing. Did you sell your souls to the devil to protect Stiles or something?"

Lorelei looked away, unable to meet his gaze. 

"Answer me!” John cried desperately. 

Lorelei folded her hands on the table. “No need to be so melodramatic, John. It wasn’t like that. Claudia would never be that stupid. We... we decided to engage with the entity again, try and talk to it, ask it what it wanted. It wanted... God help me..."

"Who? Who did it want?"

" _Stiles._ It wanted your little boy."

"God in Heaven," said John grabbing his hair, while Derek placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"And it was prepared to do _anything_. Claudia didn’t freak out. She continued engaging the entity. She asked it if there nothing else that could be done to make it go away? And then, in this horrible, horrible drone, it answered. It said there could be a bargaining. Claudia said it without even thinking..."

"What did she say?" said Derek, rubbing the Sheriff's shoulder gently.

“ _Take me. Do what you want with me and leave my child_.” God, John, I tried to stop her... but she was resolute. She told me later it said to her that it might not occur immediately, but some of the light of her body would be sacrificed. And it was still angry. She knew why. Whatever it could grab, it would never be able to access her _soul_.”

Someone sobbed behind them.

“So... so that’s why mom got cancer,” said Stiles quietly from where he had been standing at the bottom of the stairs, tears running down his face. “I lost my mother because she made a deal with a fucking demon so that I would be protected. No. NO. _NO_.”

His father got up towards him but Stiles pushed away from the hug.

“Hello, Stiles,” said Lorelei, who caught him by the collar as he jogged past them to the kitchen. “I know you're very upset my boy, but I think your werewolf friend needs you now.”

"Derek?"

“Come here, dear. He’s in some kind of trance... he's not responding.

Stiles tried to channel the torrent of emotions he was feeling inward. He walked up to Derek, who was staring into the middle distance, face plastic, eyes glowing a dim blue.

“Derek?” said Stiles, wiping his eyes and trying to gain some composure. He grabbed Derek's shoulders and shook them, but he didn’t respond.

"He's not responding to anything," Stiles said, trying to suppress a new rising fear.

“He's stuck,” Lorelei said taking his hands.

"Stuck where?.... oh."

Lorelei pointed upwards.

“Can we bring him back?” asked the Sheriff.

“We have to try. Stiles, try and hold him close to you, and the rest of us join hands.”

They formed a huddle while Stiles wrapped his arms around the werewolf, who was still unresponsive.

“Let’s all think of Derek," said Lorelei gently. "Let’s hold him, support him in our minds. Stiles – I sense he’s closest to you Stiles – talk to him.”

“What do I say?”

“Anything. Engage him. Make him feel safe, that he’s here in the room with us.”

“Go on, son.”

Lori and the Sheriff closed their eyes again, and Stiles decided to do something wolf. He gnashed his teeth a bit, and with a brief hesitation eventually bent forward to nuzzle Derek the way Scott would do with him. He caught Derek’s scent and sniffed as deeply as he could.

“Derek.”

"Derek! I know you're in there dude. It's me. Stiles. Can you hear me?"

Derek remained silent for half a minute, but then his arm jerked and his hand found itself on top of Stiles’s.

"That's good, buddy. I'm here; I'm right here. Can you squeeze my hand?"

Derek managed a weak squeeze.

“Good, good, excellent. Your buddy Stiles is right here, okay. Squeeze once for no, twice for yes. Can you do that? Show me both.”

He did both, and Stiles sighed with relief.

“Okay, buddy. Are you safe?”

One squeeze.

“Good. Are you here on earth?”

Two.

“Elsewhere?”

One.

“Is it scary?”

One.

“Can you talk? Can you try?”

Two squeezes. Then one.

“You can talk. Say your name.”

“Deh...”

“You can say it. I’m here.”   

Stiles stood behind Derek and drew him into a tight hug. “I’m here. We’re all here.”

“Try it.”

“Derrr... Derrrek.”

“Excellent! Buddy.”

“Who am I?”

“Ste.. Stiles.”

“Well done,” said Stiles, squeezing his shoulders tightly.

“Do you want to leave this place?”

“Y-yes," he said eventually, and then the words tumbled out slowly. "I don’t like it. But I don’t know how. And they don’t want me to leave.”

“Now listen to me," said Stiles, and turned to face the werewolf. "You grab my hands tightly okay? Yes. Good. Find me. I mean I know your seeing other things, but try and find me. Imagine staring at me and see me staring back at you. Feel me holding your arms. I’m not going away.”

“O..Ok...”

Derek was still for a long time, then started twitching and squeezed hard on Stiles’s hand.

“Ok, bud, you ready to come back?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Nice deep breathing like I showed you last time. Breathe with me. Hear that?”

“Yes.”

“Now think of a safe place in the forest. Somewhere you like. Somewhere special.”

“The... lake...”

“Good. Imagine going down to the lake on those steps. Slowly. As you take each step you’re listening to my voice and only my voice, ok? And with each step you’re going to start leaving this scary place and come back to us. Go down one step.”

“Ok.”

“You’re feeling calmer already. Feel your heartbeat slowing. Listen to my voice. Feel the fresh air from the lake and the wind through the trees. Now another step.”

Derek sighed.

“And another. And another. And one more. So much more relaxed. Twice as relaxed and calm with each step. You’re feeling lighter, happier...”

“You’re on the beach,” Derek said through the deep calm.

Stiles was silent for a moment. “Very well, yes, I’m on that beach, and when you take the last step you’re going to be almost awake, and run towards me, and when you do, you’ll be fully awake, and calm, here with me in the kitchen with my dad and my cousin who has driven all the way to come visit us. Okay?”

“Okay”.

“Count down the remaining steps and descend towards the lakeshore.”

"6...5...4...3..."

_"_ Good.."

_"I can see you..."_

"Excellent, buddy, excellent."

_"2...1._..”

“Run to me, Derek, we're waiting.”

“Yes... I’m here...”

“Do you feel my arms around you?”

“Yes, he said, smiling.

“Now close your eyes for a moment, and then open them, and you’ll be right with us.”

“O-Okay.”

“And... _open_.”

Derek opened his eyes slowly, staring into Stiles’s liquid brown irises.

Without thinking, he hugged the younger man tightly.

“Thank you,” he said quietly as they withdrew from the hug, and looked awkwardly down on the floor.

"My pleasure, Big Bad. How do you feel?"

He sighed deeply, collapsing into the couch. “I don’t know. Exhausted. Energized. Even a bit nauseated. Hungry.”

“Sensory confusion is common after a visit beyond,” Lorelei said calmly.

"What did you see?"

“There are... four spirits among the others. Three of them that feel so unfulfilled, so angry. But there is another. I’ve never experienced anything like this, Stiles, I was fucking _afraid_. Like what Lorelei was saying - I managed to pick it up. This thing... It wanted to consume me. It wants to consume _everything_. It wants you too. _All of us_. It’s jealous. Jealous of what you have. It kept intoning that. '...Jealous of what the boy has...' And Scott... I got a sense he was there, but I couldn’t reach out to him... every time I called out to him... I was _howling_ , Stiles, I was howling loudly... I just heard this muffled static.”

“This is worse than I thought,” said Lorelei, absent-mindedly wringing her hands.

“A possession?” said John, horrified.

“No. A _kidnapping_. It’s come for its due. Dues. The deal with Claudia, and, the sacrifice you made for your parents, Stiles. You and Scott and Allison, I think? Scott’s girlfriend, as I pick it up?”

"How do you know?"

"Things like this reverberate all across for many miles. I was in Southern Oregon at the time, and the energy reached there, and I had strange dreams for weeks. I recognized Stiles's energy. The vet... Deaton... he warned you, didn't he?"

“Yes,” said Stiles, looking pale. “He said the veil between this and the next would be forever thinner.”

“More like a portal has been opened."

“They... they want more sacrifices?”

“No,” said Derek. “They want to come _here_. They think this is the light. And the angry souls want to come back to seek revenge. Especially the three that they saw. They want to form a pact with the creature. It said its name.”

"What?"

"It has many names. It called itself... _Dzoavits_."

John gasped in horror. "I know that name."

"What?" asked Lorelei and Stiles simultaneously.

“Something my Grandma Stilinski told me once when I was little... she was always telling weird stories... something about a demon who kidnaps children... though I think she scared us with that when we were misbehaving..."

"So you _did_ have family from the Old Country!" exclaimed Lorelei, slapping her thigh. "That's right, what she said about Dzoavits.” So yes. I think this entity kept away from you and mom, but she got sick, that was the payment. Except now I realize it was a _downpayment_...”

Everybody shivered.

“What the hell do we do now?” Stiles said, his voice desperate angry. “I’m living in the fucking _Amityville Horror_ , Scott’s phone has gone all _Poltergeist_ , I was nearly _Rosemary’s Baby_ and some serial killer is committing murders with Doc Browne’s DeLorean! This is the price of having crazy Catholic Eastern European ancestry on both sides!"

“We call the pack together,” said John evenly.

“The pack?” asked Lorelei.

“Scott’s pack. He’s an Alpha.”

“Interesting,” said Lorelei. “Derek gives off all the vibes of an Alpha, yet his eyes are blue.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, lightening momentarily, “he sure has all the swagger and moodiness and bad-temper, but he’s a nice guy once you get to know him.”

“I didn’t mean that. I sense a very pure energy inside him. And inside you too, Stiles, by the way.”

Both human and wolf flushed awkwardly.

“So yes, the pack should come together. I sense this is not your typical pack. But the stronger in numbers rule is universal, from my dealings with lycanthropes. Question is, who will lead?”

“Derek,” John and Stiles said in unison, while the werewolf looked at them incredulously.

“That actually makes perfect sense. Now, will one of you boys show me to my room? I need to get some beauty sleep before we suss out our plan of action.”

“Um, said Stiles...”

“Yes?” asked the Sheriff.

“I think Cousin Lori can stay in the downstairs studio because... um...”

“Stiles very kindly offered to put me up for a few days,” Derek said. "Although I can sleep on the couch."

The Sheriff raised his eyes.

“Dad, he was on his own and I wasn’t going to let him stay in the old house that... sorry, Derek, but it's a dump and it’s falling apart and not safe. Just for a while, Dad, until he can find his own place?”

“Very well," said the Sheriff, sighing. "I just wish you would have told me from the start. Though I noticed that there were clothes that were definitely not yours hanging on the line, but I didn’t say anything. It’s fine Derek, you’re welcome. I think Stiles will appreciate the company and support.”

“Thank you sir.”

“John.”

“Well, that’s easily settled then,” said Lori, “I can feel the tense auras dissolving as I speak. So wait now, let me greet my favourite baby cousin! You’re looking fantastic!"

She walked up to Stiles and hugged him. "And what's this?" she said, grabbing his biceps. “It's so good to see you, sorry I’m only hugging you now. You’ve really filled out!"

"Um, thank you."

"Anyway, this must all be plain weird for you. Later you must sit down with me and ask all the questions you want.”

He nodded. “I’m angry, Lori. And sad. And so confused...they have Scott! And now I hear that they made mom sick! I don't know whether to cry or scream or freak out but if I don't I'm going to have a breakdown and discover that all this was just because I stopped taking my psych meds and I'm actually some brilliant economics professor in a biopic played by Russell Crowe...”

“Shhh, honey," his cousin said, placing a hand on his jittery arm. "It's okay. Of course you are feeling all sorts of things."

"My mom got sick, Lori," he said, and started sobbing. "She got sick because of me."

Lori was all Earth Mother when it came to hugs. She scooped all of Stiles up in her wispy frame and drew her long arms around him, her oversize cuffs dangling in the air as if they were the wings of a multicoloured angel. She held him for a good minute, letting him cry and rage and sob, and then spoke quietly as he started calming down.

"It was never your fault, honey. And I didn't force her. It was her decision. Nothing of consequence was lost, in all. I understand you must be angry with me, what with what Uncle Sig... I mean your Deda told you."

"He said you tried to do some black magic stuff with my mom."

"No, honey. I helped make contact, sure, but then the entity focused on your mother and offered to engage. She said yes. I warned her not to. But I respected her decision, and I always will. And that's why I am here, because before she died she made me promise that I be here to help if anything funny happened again. And this certainly ticks many boxes."

"It's.. so... much... to process..."

"I know, Stilesey. Take it slow. I'm here, okay? You need some more rest, I can see being exposed to entities affects you... we need to talk about that too... but for now may I recommend some organic herbal infusion I brought? Will soothe your aura beautifully. Get your werewolf friend to make it for you, he’s an ace with tea it seems.”

Stiles managed a little laugh. This was how he remembered Lori, airheaded, all-over-the-place, disheveled, and kind. Complete opposite to his mother’s calm, classic, ordered approach to things. But sharing equally the gentleness, and the surreal and dark Dvorak humour which he had also inherited.

“I’ll bring it up for you,” said Derek, as Stiles walked up the stairs yawning. “And maybe some more lunch, you hadn't really touched yours earlier.”

“Thanks. Sorry I’m so out of it today.”

“Shush, honey, and get back into bed.”

When her voice was low and even, she sounded a lot like Claudia, and Stiles closed his eyes and imagined for a brief moment that it was his mother, and he shivered.

"You sure you'll be okay, soldier?" said his dad. "Want me to get you anything?"

"I'll be okay, dad. I just need to rest."

“Fine. But I'm not going back to the station, I'll go do some work in the study,” said John, and excused himself.

Stiles yawned and went back up to his room. 

 

 

*

Derek and Lorelei remained in the kitchen, doing the dishes.

“He’s special to you, isn’t he?” she said as they packed away plates in the cupboard.

Derek was taken slightly aback, and stared at her for a moment wide-eyed. “W-well, yeah,” he said cautiously, “he’s a good kid, and very loyal to Scott. He was there for him throughout all the drama when he became a werewolf.”

“I’m not referring to that. It’s so plainly obvious you care about him very much. And why shouldn’t you. You’re both good, kind, loyal, intelligent people. With hang-ups. Neither of you think you’re good enough.”

“You’re kind of freaking me out,” said Derek, worrying with the dishcloth.

“That’s my job. All I’m saying is, it was him you were focusing on, wasn’t it, when we were concentrating?”

Derek didn’t say anything.

“I thought so. And he’s not a kid any more, if that's what you're afraid of. He’s a young man. You’re a young man.”

“I’m not... I couldn’t...”

_I’m not good for him, you don’t understand. This will ruin our friendship. And he’s my only friend._

“He looks up to you, you know? He admires you.”

_But I look up to him. It’s like he’s some fucking guiding light that I never asked for._

_"_ I doubt that, ma'am."

"You may call me Lorelei, young werewolf, but thank you for being so polite. You know, my eighth grade science teacher was a werewolf. I never told him I knew; he was such a gentle man it probably would have freaked him out, never mind that there was a demon living in the chemistry reagent store... that one I did exorcise, because it would have blown up everything...anyway... may I?"

She placed her hands on his temples and stared into his dark grey-green eyes.

"Are you _reading_ me or something?"

"In a way. I won't, if you don't want to."

"Go ahead," he said, huffing. "Of all the presences in this house, you and I are the most benign. Even if I can be scary looking."

"That's just the jacket. Teeth are beautiful. Now be quiet, wolfman."

She closed her eyes and focused on Derek's face between her fingers for several seconds, then darted her fingers back and smiled.

"Well, what?" said Derek cautiously. "Am I possessed? Do I have three months to live?"

“Stop torturing yourself so much, Derek Hale,” she said, smiling, “and listen to your wolf. Now go up to the one you care about and comfort him. You can angst about whether you’re dealing with platonic feelings or romantic feelings later. Either way, you’re in his life, and you two need each other.”

"We're just friends."

“If you say so,” she said with an enigmatic smile. 

Derek rolled his eyes, and proceeded to get Stiles some lunch and make the tea she'd given him.

As he walked up the stairs, Lorelei was feeling tearful. This werewolf: such tragedy, such horror in his life. And such a good, decent young man, really. Forever sacrificing himself for the good of others. Unwilling to believe that he was good enough. Hiding it in a cloak of fear, cynicism and anger.

It reminded her so much of another young man she'd just had a talking to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... you must be wondering who the spirits are... let me just say this: their appearance is not random :)
> 
> Thanks for everyone who has commented! Please drop me your thoughts!
> 
> AND I NEED A BETA!!!!


	17. Ghost In The Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Danny looked at each other and shrugged.
> 
> “Won’t hurt to try,” said Danny. “Though I’m not sure I want to know what your aunt means by ‘making a connection’.”
> 
> “Cousin,” Lorelei corrected, reaching over and grabbing a slice of pizza from Stiles’s plate. “First cousin once removed. You don’t mind me finishing this dear? It is the last slice of vegetarian. Even though I’m getting a non-organic vibe from these mushrooms.”
> 
> “Help yourself,” Stiles muttered, getting up to fetch a cable from his room. Just fucking perfect, he thought, we’re going to plug in to the afterlife and download Hell 2.0 on my brand new install of Mountain Lion. Hey, maybe they could resurrect Steve Jobs while they’re at it and get his official take on Siri.

“Drink it,” said Derek, as he placed the herbal brew in front of Stiles.

“It smells horrible,” the younger man said, screwing up his nose as he prepared to take a sip from the bright green infusion.

“It’s got vervain in it. Vervain’s used to protect children.”

“I’m not a child,” said Stiles petulantly, as he finally took a sip and grimaced.

“Semantics,” said Derek. “You are your father’s child. You’re loved.”

_If only you knew how much, you crazy, frustrating man-boy._

“I guess I have no choice,” he said, rolling his eyes, and downed the rest of the concoction in a single gulp.

“Why don’t you eat the rest of your lunch. I can hear your stomach growling.”

“I have a personal werewolf valet,” Stiles said to himself. “Would the Power Puff Girls and Cow and Chicken please join me in my room, because I can’t have all this surrealism to my self.”

“Shut up, Stiles, and eat,” said Derek, handing him a plate.

“Make that a Jewish mother werewolf with... mmmm... Julia Child tendencies... holy shit, this is _good_... almost as good as your lasagne... did you go to werewolf Cordon Bleu school or something?”

Derek smiled and finished his beer as Stiles ate.

“Feeling better?”

“Much,” said Stiles, who was now in a calm post-prandial lull. “Thank you.”

“I meant, specifically, all that went down there earlier.”

Stiles looked away. “It’s a lot to take in. And I’m not sure I believe everything. I still can’t help feeling that... if I hadn’t been born... my mother wouldn’t have gotten ill...”

“Stop that!” said Derek, his eyes flashing blue so that Stiles jolted. “You were a gift from above, both your parents said that. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself for the ones you love? Oh but wait, _you already did so_! Several times!”

“Damn you, Hale. Why do you have to be so intelligent and look like you just escaped from an Abercrombie & Fitch shoot? It’s not fucking fair.”

Derek grinned awkwardly and took a deep breath.

“I wanted to thank you for... for what you did for me down there. I was really scared, Stiles. But you got me out of it.”

“Hey,” the younger man said shrugging, “that’s what friends do.”

Derek smiled weakly. “You trusted me.”

“Of course I trusted you, Big Bad. Just because you scared the living shit out of me when we first met didn’t mean I never trusted you.”

Derek was silent for a moment and then chuckled softly. It felt good hearing Stiles babbling again, filling the empty spaces with his warm voice.

“So,” the werewolf said. “The whole pack’s coming over after six. And I mean also auxiliary and honorary members.”

“Auxiliary?”

“Deaton. Mrs McCall. Chris Argent. Your dad.”

“I never realised you thought my dad...”

“Stiles, your father is a man I respect greatly. He’s our de facto liaison with the law. In my books, he’s pack, just as he is with Scott.”

“Scott’s always been democratic.”

“The best Alphas are, or at least, that’s what my parents taught me. Pack is family. But that’s the thing... it’s not just your blood relatives, it’s anyone whom you care about and love and are prepared to fight for.  It’s about being willing to help and be helped. At least, that’s how it should be.”

“How very Justice League.”

Derek drew his knees to his chest where he sat on the edge of Stiles’s bed.

“I’m nervous. I don’t know how they’re all going to react.”

“Well. Whatever happens, we all want to find Scott. There has to be a leader chosen, and I’m sticking by you. But will you stay if someone else is chosen?”

“Yes,” Derek said quietly. “Because I am loyal to my alpha. I know I haven’t been the poster boy for loyalty, but... I promise you I’m trying...”

“I believe you, Derek,” Stiles said suddenly, sitting up and extending his arms towards the werewolf. “Here’s to emotional breakthroughs.”

“What are you doing?”

 “Well come on, I’m clearly asking for a hug but I’m too lazy to get out of bed.”

“Okay...”

Derek shuffled closer awkwardly and Stiles drew the werewolf in tight and hugged him. Derek stiffened at first, but then he caught the human’s scent and was intoxicated. He whined and placed his head on Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles simply put an arm around him and rubbed his shoulder.

“S-sorry,” said Derek into Stiles’s pullover.

“Sorry for what?”

“Being so unstable. So weak.”

“Shut up, Big Bad. You’re having a crap time.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah. So this is what friends do. Solidarity. Support.”

“You and Scott?”

“The same. Jeez, you’ve never had a bro who’s got your back? Has no friend given you a good hug recently? Because you’re a good hugger.”

“I guess... not...”

“It’s okay... Derek, it’s okay. We’ll get through this thing together.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do. We’re Team Awesome, remember? We’ve defeated Kanimas and Darachs and we’re totally gonna fight for our Alpha back! I’m glad you’re back, Derek, I want you to know that. I really am. I missed you.”

_Oh God, there, I’ve gone and said it._

“You missed me?” he said, his face still buried in Stiles’s shoulder.

“Of course. Who was I going to irritate and get thrown around by in return? I’m kidding. I missed you, I missed you sneaking into my room and making me research stuff and how you’d sit there patiently and then we’d have these half-normal conversations. And yeah, being the geeky teen who got to hang around with the town badass was all sorts of nerdgasmic cool.”

_I missed you too._

Derek put his head in his hands.

“I’m just so... so... scared more people are going to get hurt. There’s been too much horror in Beacon Hills. Too much horror everywhere I go...”

Before he knew what he was doing, Stiles found himself stroking Derek’s hair, which was much softer than he had imagined. Derek groaned slightly as he did it.

“Um, that feels kinda nice.”

“Oh... er...” said Stiles, suddenly realising he was _petting_ Derek. “I didn’t mean...”

“My mother used to do that when I was upset.”

“So this is... not freaking you out? I mean, Scott sometimes rubs my shoulders when I’m stiff from lacrosse practice, though he has to do it reeeeaallly gently with his wolf strength, and I heard that head massage is calming so...”

“Mmmm,” was all that Derek could say when Stiles cautiously moved the attention behind his ears.

“So it IS true what they say about being rubbed behind the ears.”

“I swear...” he said sleepily, “if you tell anybody that I will _kill_ you... oh God that IS good...”

"Why don't you rest a bit? Take a load off?"

"Here? With you?"

“No, with the Three Little Pigs. Yes. Here. I’ll set an alarm for 5:30. Part 2 of Desensitize The Werewolf To Bromantic Stuff starting now. Dad and Lorelei are probably doing the whole catch-up thing.”

“I can hear them talking,” said Derek, yawning and plonking himself down.

“Hey, wolfman, move up,” said Stiles, shooing Derek to the other side of the bed.

“Sorry.”

They lay in silence, covered in the weak afternoon light washing through the louvres. Derek fell asleep quickly and Stiles tried to read a bit, but the werewolf’s soft rhythmic snoring was quite soporific. He grabbed the comforter that was lying crumpled in a heap on the floor and spread it over them.

He stared smiling at the sleeping werewolf, and was amazed at how natural all of this felt.

For the first time in two days, Stiles felt _safe_.

 

*

 

By 6:30 the entire pack had assembled itself in the Stilinskis’ living room. Deputy Jones had come over too and sat nervously next to the Sheriff, regarding the assortment of werewolves and humans who, she realized with some horror, were probably going to be more useful to this case than the entire FBI could. Melissa was looking ashen, and sat holding Allison’s hand; both women appeared appropriately overwhelmed.

“There is discord among you,” said Lorelei, who was sitting barefoot on the floor cross-legged surveying the whole assembly. “Which is not going to be of any use if you want to find your friend. I know werewolves well, and not just because pack dynamics was my honour’s dissertation at The Aquarian Academy.”

“Aquarian Academy?” said Stiles, while Lydia rolled her eyes. “You went to some kind of Hogwarts?”

“It’s a highly respected paranormal research institution,” she said, slightly offended. “But we’re digressing. This pack is without an alpha, and you need someone to lead. There are three of you here who _were_ Alphas before, am I right?”

Ethan and Aiden shifted uncomfortably where they were sitting while Derek stared at the floor.

“If I may,” said the Sheriff. “I think Derek has the most experience here.”

Aiden growled. "Since when does a human get to nominate who becomes Alpha?"

“Actually, he's perfectly entitled to,” said Deaton. “This is Scott’s pack, and Scott considered the Sheriff pack. Everyone has a right to a vote.”

“I never stood for humans in my pack,” said Aiden.

Ethan shot his brother a pointed look. “You’re not an Alpha any more,” he hissed, while Danny squeezed his boyfriend’s hand. “Neither of us are. We both gave it up after Deucalion left. You joined this pack willingly.”

“Or else,” Stiles added, “would you want to slash someone’s throat to get your power kick?”

“Stop that,” Lorelei said, her voice darker and serious. “All of you. Derek has been nominated. Who agrees?”

Stiles raised his hand, followed by Lydia and Allison.

“No wolf has agreed yet,” Aiden grumbled.

“I vote for him,” said Isaac suddenly, getting up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the sofa.

Derek stared incredulously at the younger werewolf.

“But I thought...”

“That’s not important right now,” said Isaac. “It’s like Stiles’s dad says. You’re the one with the most experience. And you were born a werewolf.”

Derek nodded numbly, and then noticed that most of the others had raised their hands too, except for Aiden, who was sitting with his arms folded and a scowl on his face.

"Well, that's better," said Lorelei. "How about it, Derek?" 

Derek blew out his cheeks.

“Very well,” he said. “I accept. But this is only so that we can find Scott, of course.”

“Good,” Lorelei said smiling, “because my nicotine level is dangerously low right now and I doubt I could have continued being neutral for much longer. I’ll be with you dears shortly.”

She got up and ambled pleasantly out into the garden, leaving the rest of them looking awkwardly at each other.

Stiles called Derek over.

“Is there some kind of weird ceremony that has to take place now for transfer of power?” he asked. “Because I don’t want any blood on the furniture or wolfsbane stains on the floor.”

“Not really,” said Derek solemnly, “I just need to go kill a deer and paint my naked body in its blood.”

"What?"

“I’m kidding, you moron,” he said with a half-smile, while the Sheriff snorted. “I’m just acting Alpha. It doesn’t give me alpha powers. I’m merely a beta with administrative rights, if you like.”

Pizza arrived, which broke any remaining ice, and after everybody had filled their plates they sat down at the dining-room table, Lorelei holding court while Stiles unleashed his customary Google-Fu on his laptop.

“Let’s get the obvious out of the way,” Lorelei continued. “There’s a young man missing, a body was found, and the police evidence points to kidnapping. And the eager wolf noses have tracked Scott’s scent from his house to the same spot where the body was. Am I missing anything else?”

“Well, there is the muddled date thing, I guess,” said Deputy Jones.

“What do you mean?”

Lorelei’s eyes grew wider as she was told of the disappearance in 2000.

“I need to see the file, John,” she said. “I know you have a copy and I need to know as much as possible.”

“Technically I’m not supposed to....”

“Technically? There are ghosts and werewolves in your house and you’re telling a psychic she can’t have a look at a standard police report because she’s not official staff?”

“Ok,” the Sheriff said in a deep sigh, and motioned Deputy Jones to hand over the file she had been secreting in her briefcase.

It didn’t take Lorelei long to find the coroner’s report. She dropped the papers dramatically as soon as she saw the photographs.

“I warned you, Lori,” said John.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me about the number?!”

“What number?”

“The Roman numerals marked on his leg. VI.”

“Six,” said Stiles. “I knew it wasn’t initials. What does it mean?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, flustered. “I see the report notes that it appears to have been branded on around the time of death. Anybody else got any ideas? Mr Argent? Something you might know from that Bestiary of yours? Which I’ve always found rather entertaining. Fanciful, but entertaining.”

Chris shook his head.

“You know I can’t say anything until we have a pattern,” said John, “which means, another victim... actually, _victims..._ but if we find other numbers we’re probably dealing with a serial killer.”

"Fair enough. Now. Scott's phone. Do you have it, Stilesey?" 

“Here,” he said, taking it out of his pocket and giving it to his cousin. “It’s pretty much dead. Hasn’t done anything since it went all _Ghost In The Machine_ in the woods. Tried to charge it, nothing.”

Lorelei held the phone in her hands and closed her eyes.

“You know they landed on the Moon with pretty much the technology of a pocket calculator,” she said, rolling the object around with her fingers. “Imagine what they would have done with _this_ technology back in ‘69. Although I maintain that we’ve always had the knowledge, especially if you think of Ancient Egypt and.. oh my... there _is_ activity here...”

“Do all Stiles’s family members talk this much?” Derek asked Lydia, who hissed at him to be quiet.

“We need to interrogate it,” Lorelei said, opening her eyes again. “I need someone who can speak its language.”

“It?” asked Stiles.

“The phone. It’s a vessel, it’s a link, you see. Sends and receives information. It can be tracked.”

“I doubt Scott’s cellular company is going to have records for Satan’s phone number.”

Lorelei ignored him, and scanned the room until her eyes locked on Danny.

“ _You_. You’re good with these things, aren’t you?”

“Um, maybe,” he said, while Aiden curled an arm defensively around his boyfriend.

“Well, dear?”

“Stiles,” he said, “do you have a USB cable for Scott’s phone so we can connect it to your laptop?”

“Yes, but the phone’s dead, dude.”

“That’s where I come in,” said Lorelei. “If I can somehow make a connection, will you be able to… link up or download or whatever it is you call it?”

Stiles and Danny looked at each other and shrugged.

“Won’t hurt to try,” said Danny. “Though I’m not sure I want to know what your aunt means by ‘making a connection’.”

“Cousin,” Lorelei corrected, reaching over and grabbing a slice of pizza from Stiles’s plate. “First cousin once removed. You don’t mind me finishing this dear? It is the last slice of vegetarian. Even though I’m getting a non-organic vibe from these mushrooms.”

“Help yourself,” Stiles muttered, getting up to fetch a cable from his room. _Just fucking perfect_ , he thought, _we’re going to plug in to the afterlife and download Hell 2.0 on my brand new install of Mountain Lion. Hey, maybe they could resurrect Steve Jobs while they’re at it and get his official take on Siri_.

 

*

 

It was an odd scene, Stiles and Danny staring at the laptop screen while Lorelei held the phone in her hands, eyes closed and humming.

“Is that _Moon River_?” Stiles asked.

“Oh, sorry,” said Lorelei. “It’s been an earworm for the past few days. What’s happening your side?”

“Nothing. I told you, this thing’s dead. Wait...the OS is recognising the phone... it says ‘Unknown Device’.”

“Think of Scott. Everyone.”

Moments passed.

Suddenly, the phone screen lit up and started buzzing. The laptop switched itself off.

“Okay, make that undead.”

“Stay calm,” said Lorelei. “Keep Scott in mind.”

Stiles desperately hoped to see the familiar logo on his startup screen, but there was nothing. As pressed the on switch, static hissed through the speakers and snow appeared on the screen.

The phone was doing the same thing.

“I don’t like this,” said Danny.

“Okay, I can sense something...” Lorelei intoned.

“What?”

“It’s faint... Scott? Scott? Can you hear me?”

A high harmonic pierced through the hissing. All the werewolves covered their ears.

“Ow!” Isaac yelled. “My ears!”

Derek was growling, fangs bared, while Aiden and Ethan shuffled to the back of the room, their eyes screwed up.

“I can sense Scott... I think he’s...I think he’s _howling_ ,” Lorelei continued, her face paling. “He’s in pain.”

"Scott! Buddy!" Stiles cried. "Talk to us!"

Lydia screamed, and stood up and opened her mouth slowly.

“ _They want two more, and then they will come_ ,” she moaned in a deep, sickening rasp. “ _They want two more. Don’t let them..._ ”

The high noise was getting louder and louder, and the crockery on the table started rattling and shaking.

“ _They... don’t... want... me... talking... to you..._ ”, the voice continued,  “ _it hurts... it hurts..._ _”_

“Hang in there, buddy!” Stiles said breathlessly, his eyes red and wet.

“Oh God. _Scott_!” Allison sobbed.

“ _Help... me... trust the Alpha... it hurts..._ _”_

“Leave him!” Stiles shouted. Sparks erupted around the phone and the laptop, and Lorelei groaned in agony.

The werewolves were rolling on the floor in pain, and out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Isaac yelp and wolf out, blood spurting from his ears. He charged out of the room screaming.

“ _Leave! Stop it!_ ” Stiles yelled. The room was shaking, now.

Suddenly, Stiles stood up, arms outstretched.

**" _Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine!_ "**

A bright flash of light scissored out of Stiles’s hands. The phone flew from Lorelei’s grip and shot across the room, shattering against the wall.

There was a loud bang.

The lights went out and everything was black and silent.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to Tobe Hooper for my subtle (and not-so-subtle) nods to "Poltergeist" in this chapter. (The static!!!) But hey, Jeff Davis references Hitchcock, so I thought I'd do a bit of a cinematic homage as well.


	18. Postcards and Fairy Tales

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Is that why they always kill the wolf?"
> 
> She stroked his dark locks and wiped his eyes. "People do mean things when they don't understand." 
> 
> "Is that what's going to happen to us? Am I going to eat an old lady and a hunter will kill me with an axe? Why did Little Red Riding Hood go into the forest on her own anyway? If she hadn't..."
> 
> "Come here, Derek," she said, and helped him up and picked up the book. "Stories don't always mean exactly what the words say, my boy. Sometimes they're symbolic."

 

 

* * *

  


_Česká pošta, Pražský hrad_

POSTCARD / POHLEDNICE   5 Kc

 

To: Derek Hale

Poste Restante / General Delivery

Sacramento, CA

USA

 

Prague, May 27th 

Prague is beautiful! Crappy train ride from Munich and really hot here, but beer awesome (you'd be jealous) and for once things really do look like they do in the tourist pics. St Vitus Cathedral breathtaking. Going for cruise on Vltava tonight. Did you get my emails? Miss you lots.  

Love Cora

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

_Österreichische Poste, Schloss Schönbrunn_

POSTCARD / POSTKARTE  2 Eur.

 

To: Derek Hale

Poste Restante / General Delivery

Sacramento, CA

USA

 

Vienna, June 6th

It's packed here! Hot. Expensive, but amazing. All churched and museum-ed out! Went to Freud museum today - think you would have had a ball. Schönbrunn Castle massive, beautiful and exhausting!!! So much schnitzel and beer (I really have developed a liking for the stuff now) I've probably gained five lbs. Tonight going to Mozart concert, wish Mom could have been here with me. Off to Budapest later in the week. Love you bro 

xxx Cora 

PS ANSWER YOUR EMAIL!!!!!

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Slovenská pošta, Hviezdoslavovo námestie_

POSTCARD / POHL'ADNICE 2 Eur.

 

To: Derek Hale

Poste Restante / General Delivery

Sacramento, CA

USA

 

Bratislava, June 10th

Very charming here. Had great time in Budapest –yes, ate a lot of goulash– and morbidly fascinating day at the House of Terror (communism/ fascism museum – don't know if I will handle Auschwitz very well when I get to Poland). Backtracked to Slovakia after I met a couple from Louisville who are the same as us ;) Gonna go party tonight at club (not my scene, but why not)... 

love Cora

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

"Derek?"

He was hunched over, shivering in the corner. He had been crying softly, but she had heard her son's distress while she was in the garden tending to the vegetable patch. 

Talia knelt down in front of him and placed her hand on his cheek. 

"Why, Mommy, why?" was all he could say. Then she saw the old book open in front of him. 

_Grimm's Fairy Tales._

_"_ Oh, my boy," she said, drawing him in for a hug. She felt his confusion and anger and sadness buzzing  as an angry trinity under his skin. "Daddy and I warned you to ask us first if you wanted to read the books on the top shelf."

Derek clung tightly to his mother. "Are we monsters, Mommy? Is that what we do?"

"No, sweetheart. Not at all. The stories... they're old, very old, and sometimes the message they carry gets changed, because people are afraid. 

"Is that why they always kill the wolf?"

She stroked his dark locks and wiped his eyes. "People do mean things when they don't understand." 

"Is that what's going to happen to us? Am I going to eat an old lady and a hunter will kill me with an axe? Why did Little Red Riding Hood go into the forest on her own anyway? If she hadn't..."

"Come here, Derek," she said, and helped him up and picked up the book. "Stories don't always mean exactly what the words say, my boy. Sometimes they're symbolic." 

"Symbolic?"

"They stand for something else. Something deeper. There's _our_ version of this story, that's even older. And different."

"Then why do we have this book?"

She reached out and coaxed her son into the light, leading him to the sofa on the other side of the library. "It's important to know _all_ sides of a story, before we ever judge other people. I want you to always remember that. These stories in this book are the stories handed down from mothers to daughters to their daughters and so on. Humans are great storytellers; it's a gift. And... we understand things more clearly today, but it doesn't mean that what they said isn't important."

"But we're humans _and_ wolves."

"Exactly, sweetheart," she said, motioning him to sit closer to her. "Humans and wolves... we're all equal. We can both be good or both be bad. It's a choice."

"How come Seth is not a werewolf and Laura is? And what's going to happen to me and Cora and Sarah?" 

"It's not for us to decide," Talia said gently. "And it doesn't matter. Whether you're an alpha, or a beta, or a human, or an omega, nobody is better than anybody else. It's what you choose to do that makes the difference."

"Tell me the other story, then," Derek said softly.

"Shall I get us some cookies and milk first?" his mother said, smiling.

Little Derek nodded, and followed his mom to the kitchen.

 

 

 

 

*

 

_Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived in a village at the edge of a great forest. Because she was always playing outside in the wind and the rain, her mother made her a cloak that was the brightest of red to protect her from the weather. It was expensive fabric, and though the girl's parents saved up the money for months to buy it at the market in the big town a day's ride away, they knew it was worth it when they saw how happy their daughter was when she put it on._

_Her father was a woodcutter who worked long, hard days felling trees and chopping timber, but he never complained because it was his greatest joy in life to look after his wife and daughter. He knew the woods well, and because he only ever hunted for food and never took the bounty around him for granted, his spirit was recognised by the forest as a good one and he was always safe._  

_One day he was walking home, having caught some fish in the stream that ran through the woods, when he heard an awful whining sound behind one of the trees._

_"Who goes there?" asked the woodcutter._

_It was a wolf, who was injured. An arrow had pierced his side and he was bleeding._

_"Help me," said the wolf, "I have been shot."_

_"Who shot you, wolf?"_

_"Some hunters. I was lost and was howling to find my pack, and they were afraid when they saw me."_

_The woodcutter took pity on the wolf and took out the arrow. It was not a fatal wound, but the woodcutter knew the wolf was weak, and would surely die if he was left alone. Because he was strong from years of chopping trees, he picked the wolf up and carried him home._  

_"Your family will be afraid of me," said the wolf, "because I have big eyes and teeth and claws."_

_"Then I will make a bed for you in the cellar while they are sleeping."_

_"How do I know you will not kill me in the night, because I know that you can sell my skin for a good sum?"_

_"How do I know that you will not sneak upstairs and slaughter my family while we are sleeping? I walk in the forest every day, and I know your kind could track my scent to my house whenever you wanted to."_  

_"You have a point," said the wolf, "it is better for us to trust each other. I can see you are a kind man."_

_So the the woodcutter brought the wolf home, where he stayed in the cellar for a few days. The man gave him food and rubbed the wound with salve he had gotten from his mother-in-law, who knew a lot about plants that could heal and cure._

_Soon the wolf had recovered, and the woodcutter let him out early one morning while the rest of the family was still sleeping._  

_"Thank you for your kindness," said the wolf. "One day I will repay you the debt. And my kin will always watch over you; be it known that you and your family will always be safe in the forest."_

_Years passed, and the woodcutter's little girl was now a young woman of eighteen. One morning, Little Red –as she was called–decided to go visit her grandmother who lived on the other side of the woods..._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, I haven't forgotten about Cora!


	19. The Number Of The Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and his father stared at each other, and both thought the same thing.
> 
> Two is just a coincidence... isn’t it? Three’s a pattern...
> 
> ...but are we going to wait for three?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for references to underage abuse (what Kate did to Derek). And dense plot detail.

 

Stiles felt as if his skull were going to blow apart. A searing pain had wedged itself inside his core and was coiling itself around his body.

He heard a deep groan next to him.

"Derek?"

"Stiles." 

As his eyes adjusted to the dark the younger man could make out the werewolf struggling to his feet. 

"Is everyone alright?" Derek managed in a weak voice.

Grunts and moans scattered across the room.

"I'm here," said the Sheriff. Soon the others identified themselves in succession – Lorelei, Allison, Lydia, the twins; Mrs McCall, Deaton, Jones.

"What the hell just happened?" asked Danny.

"Hang on," said Stiles. "I think the power's out."

He managed to stumble to the kitchen and find the circuit board.

"Let's see," he said, finding the trip switch. Lights flooded back on.

It looked like a small cyclone had ripped through the dining room. The table had been knocked onto its side, and broken shards of glass and crockery littered the floor. Danny had a cut on his forehead, and a few drops of blood were dripping from Derek's nose. Stiles had a bright blue bruise underneath his left eye where he had knocked himself against the table 

Everybody started at the bloody trail leading out of the house. 

"Isaac," said Allison. "He's not here." 

Derek bent down and sniffed at the trail of blood. "It's him," he said, eyes flashing and fangs elongating. "I'm on it." 

“Derek….” Stiles began, but the werewolf dashed out of the room. They heard the back door open and the sound of footfalls, and then, Derek's howl. 

Lydia covered her face, suddenly feeling dizzy.

Stiles and Danny ran out into the back garden, and found Derek hunched over the body, sniffing.

"Oh God," Stiles gasped, "not again."

"Is that..." said Danny, horrified.

"No," said Derek grimly. "Looks like him, but... it's the same as yesterday. Not him. And, yes, he’s dead."

The hair was the same, and the build about the same size. He was face-down, like the previous one.

“God in Heaven,” said Melissa, covering her face as the Sheriff wrapped an arm around her.

Derek took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing thoughts. 

“I can’t seem to track his scent anywhere beyond this,” he said. “Or is it just me? 

Ethan nodded grimly, and looked at his brother, who just shrugged. 

Lorelei stretched out her arms, and then shook her head. 

"What?" asked Derek. 

"Isaac's not here…" 

“Well _of course_ he’s not here,” said Stiles, and then his lips formed themselves into an o. “Wait. You mean…?"  

Lorelei nodded. 

" _Beyond_."

Stiles and his father stared at each other, and both thought the same thing.

_Two is just a coincidence... isn’t it? Three’s a pattern..._

_...but are we going to wait for three?_

As if echoing their thoughts, Lorelei cleared her throat.  “So what are we going to do before this happens again?” she asked, matter-of-factly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then Derek spoke.

“This is what we’ll do. There’s a body. Sheriff... you do what you need to do. It’s not Isaac, we know that. First thing, I'm going to roll him over."

The face was the same mottled colour. There was a circular gash around the man's belly button.

The werewolf clenched his jaw and pulled down the man's shorts just to expose the groin.

Derek eyes widened, even though he had expected it:

 

**VI**

 

Stiles threw up his arms. "What the hell does it mean?"

"Precisely that," Lydia murmured softly. "Hell." 

A collective shiver danced around the group.

Stiles's brain was sizzling with sparks.

"I think I get it," he said. "VI. It's the number six. Six, six,"

"And six on the next one," Lydia replied.

"I think we all know what that means," said Lorelei, as the horror spread through the group like a drop of ink on blotting paper. "It's not just any entity behind this all. It's the Beast itself."

"It wants their light!" Allison gasped. 

_Holy. Fucking. Shitballs_. _My life has become the horrible love-child of_ Damien _and_ Poltergeist _with some choice genes from_ The Conjuring _spliced into the DNA for added apocalyptic awesomeness._

 

 

 

 

*

 

After the Sheriff had dispatched some backup, Derek called them together in a circle.

"Here's what we're going to do," he said. "Let's split up, gang."

"Oh my _God,_ ” Stiles groaned. "You didn't seriously just make a Scooby-Doo reference?" 

Derek shot Stiles an angry look, and the brunet shuddered in spite of himself. “Sorry,” he said, and Derek rolled his eyes. 

The werewolf blinked and made his suggestions calmly, but with a subtly imperious tone that Stiles couldn't help interpreting as _orders_ he felt he should _obey._  

"The Sheriff will handle the necessary legal proceedings. Stiles and I will go with to find out as much as we can. Lydia and Lorelei, if you could please stay here and help clean up the house."

"Perfect," said Lorelei, suddenly animated. "I'll consult with Deaton here as well to see if there's anything that can be contributed between his knowledge of extra-veterinary matters, as it were. We could start with a cleansing spell...I'm not really a worker but I know of a _lovely_ one that we just need some fresh parsley and peppermint for although it's in Estonian and the prosody is a bit heavy for my tongue... you know Stiles, I've always found Uralic languages difficult to—"

Derek cleared his throat. “That will do” he said sternly.

Lorelei flushed and nodded meekly, while Stiles tried hard to suppress a giggle.

"Of course, young Alpha," she said.

Derek continued.

"Aidan and Ethan, one of you stay with them while the other goes with Danny to Mrs McCall's for the night. We all need to be safe. And Allison and Mr Argent, if you could start liaising with your people. There are going to have to be new alliances formed and meetings held, and I don't want this holding up things. 

"Of course," said Chris, nodding. It was essentially the first time the two had interacted since Derek had returned. Derek couldn't help feeling surprised at how polite the head Hunter in Beacon Hills was being to the werewolf who had bitten his late wife, albeit in self-defence. 

As he watched the crowd forming itself into its various assigned constellations, Derek looked down and huffed softly.

Stiles patted the acting Alpha's shoulder. Derek shot him a curious glance.

"That was kind of awesome," Stiles said. "No-one's ever managed to shut up Lori during one of her ramblings."

Derek shrugged, but gave a wry little smile.

As he heard the police cars arriving, Stiles felt a very odd twinge in the pit of his stomach. 

Derek was leading... and Stiles was _liking_ it.

As in, _very much_ liking it.

 

*

 

The coincidences came fast, and they came worryingly so. The body matched the physical features of a 19 year-old David Salinger from Beacon Hills who had disappeared in 1987. Stiles, Derek and his father sat poring over the old case file in the Sheriff's office. 

"It's practically identical to the first case," said Stiles, scanning the papers, "except for the date and the mark on the umbilicus... I mean, belly-button."

"Your informal medical training's paying off, son," said the Sheriff pleasantly as the brunet grinned back at him. Derek couldn't help being touched by the proud look on John's face, even as he tried hard to suppress the memory welling up from the depths like air bubbles desperately seeking the surface of the water.  

He'd last seen that expression on his own father, when Seth had scored a winning touchdown at a packed varsity game. 

The day before the fire.

After the game, Kate had found him, wanting to know if the whole family were definitely going to be present at the pack meeting the next day. He'd asked for their _Codex_ back, but she'd told him she still needed to look up some things, to make sure that she could protect them all. He'd protested, saying that he'd be in trouble for removing it from the house in the first place. But then she'd led him to the car and was pushing him down into the back seat, her fingers spidering around his cheek as she told him to go ahead and show her what a cute little cub he could be.

Derek managed to block the avalanche of disgust that usually came when the bitch appeared in his thoughts, and snapped back to the present.

“Where was he last seen?” the werewolf asked after taking a few calming breaths.

“That’s the thing,” said Stiles, who was managing to flit between the case file, his laptop and the office computer in a not altogether ungraceful hand dance. “He was out of the country. In Brazil.” 

“ _Brazil?_ ” asked John.

“Yes. He was backpacking through South America.”

“Of course he would be,” said the Sheriff with exasperation. “I suppose the next missing person is going to be a space tourist from the 22nd Century or something. _Brazil_?”

“Wake up and smell the Interpol, Dad. Says here he was last seen on the 22nd of June 1988 after checking out of a hotel in Sao Jose in Maranhao Province.”

They sat in silence for a while, trying to make sense of it all. Stiles redoubled his efforts, and was soon so engrossed he knocked over his cup of coffee, spilling it in Derek's lap.

"Fuck! Sorry!" he squealed as Derek yelped and shot up, clutching his groin.

“Be careful!" Derek shouted. 

Stiles covered his face as the Sheriff handed the werewolf some paper towels to clean up the mess.

"Is Derek Junior okay?" asked Stiles.

“ _Stiles!_ " his father said in horror, while Derek blushed.

“I’m… I’m fine,” the werewolf managed.

“Sorry,” said the brunet, leaning back in his chair. “I just meant…”

He leaned a little too far back, and then he fell over in a whirl of flailing limbs.

“Uh. Sorry. Again.”

“Honestly son,” said his father, “I don’t understand how you can get an A+ for math and physics and physics yet have complete disregard for the law of gravity.” 

Stiles’s eyes became saucers. 

“ _Math?_ Holy fuck!”

“What?” asked Derek.

“That’s it! There are thirteen years between the two abductions. I’m going to check for missing persons reports from Beacon Hills thirteen years apart. ”

In a few moments, the pattern was there, practically screaming at them.

2014\. 2001. 1988. 1975. 1962.

It took a good hour, but eventually they had found all the reports from the police archives.

“See. Five people. All thirteen years apart,” Stiles jabbered. “All young people from Beacon Hills that go missing in late June. Nothing before 1947 though.

“But they’re all disappearing in different places,” said the Sheriff. “That’s random. Beacon Hills, Brazil, then the  missionary who disappeared in West Africa, one on a ship in off Ecuador… where did you say the 1962 disappearance happened?”

“Let me check…” said Stiles, fumbling through the last file. “Alice Kay, 20 years old. Volunteer for the USO. Some how ended up in… Czechoslovakia…" 

“Czechoslovakia?” said Derek, raising an eyebrow. 

“Mmm,” said Stiles. “Of course this was before the two countries separated. Wait, here’s an actual copy of the missing person’s report by the Czechoslovak police! They must have sent it to Beacon Hills… how it got here, I don't know... Cold War and all that..."

“Can you read it?” asked the Sheriff.

“Jeez, Dad, it’s been years since Deda died. And this looks like Slovak, not Czech. It’s similar… but…okay wait… _Mladá Američanka…_ young American woman, _tmavo hnedé vlasy..._ uh... brown? dark brown head... no hair...brown eyes... okay… _Zmizla… na 19 júna_ … um… lost? Missing? Yes missing. 19th June. _v Bratislave_. Bratislava. She went missing in Bratislava.”

“Oh my God,” Derek gasped. 

“Derek?” said Stiles. The werewolf was pale.

“Cora,” he said, whining. “I last had a postcard from Cora from Bratislava. She’s been travelling in Europe for the summer.”

“You don’t think…” said the Sheriff.

“I finally started writing back to her emails this week… but I’ve had no response,” Derek replied.”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hands. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She’s probably, what, in Romania making fun of tourists doing the Dracula pilgrimage.”

Derek shook his head.

“She’s twenty years old, Stiles,” he said.  “Just like the girl from 1962.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken such a long time to update... but I'm having to plan my plot carefully, hopefully I'm intriguing you all and not confusing you! Thanks for your patience and to all of you who have taken the time to comment, I really, really appreciate it.


	20. An Unholy Trinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Were there any reports of a missing body turning up?" asked Stiles. Derek shook his head.
> 
> "Fuck. Any pattern that was here has upped and left for a three-month holiday in Outer Mongolia," sighed the brunet. "Scott and Isaac have gone missing here in Beacon Hills and replaced by their doppelgängers. Now Cora may or may not have been sucked beyond... sorry Derek... but she's thousands of miles away. Doesn't fit. We've got to get hold of Lorelei."

 

They busied themselves trying to make sense of the stack of files, Stiles trying desperately to distract Derek from ruminating. 

Then the werewolf's phone rang.

Derek winced when he saw it was not a local number. _+421_. Not even a U.S. number.

"Hello?" he said with trepidation.

It was a woman's voice. The accent was thick but understandable.

"Mr Hale? Mr Derek Hale?"

"Yes?"

"This is Detective Katerina Medveda of Slovak Foreign Police in Bratislava," the voice continued, clipped and perfunctory. "You are relative of Cora Hale?"

"Oh my God," the werewolf gasped. "I'm her brother. What's wrong? Is she all right?"

Stiles and the Sheriff stared at Derek's frightened face. 

"She has gone missing few days ago," the voice on the phone continued. "Her passport and some clothes were found in hotel in small village nearby Bratislava. She went on tour with some people, but not come back after she went for walk in forest. Have you hear from her? She has list you as contact."

"Not... not recently," Derek said, his voice cracking. "She sent me a postcard a week ago that she was visiting Slovakia, that's all. 

Stiles put a hand on the werewolf's shoulder and fisted at his shirt. Derek had gone pale as he said a couple of breathless _yes_ 's and _no_ 's into the handset, while scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. 

"Thank you, Detective," he managed at the end of the conversation, and slumped into a chair, the phone dropping out of his limp hand.

Stiles knew. 

"Cora?" he asked, and Derek nodded. 

"It was a police officer from Slovakia. Cora's missing." 

The Sheriff put his head in his hands, shaking his head. 

"She never returned to her hotel. I bet... it's happened, like all the others." 

He shot up from his chair, and made for the door. "Fuck. I've... I've got to get on a plane to Bratislava ASAP. If... if I take the train to San Francisco I could be on a flight to Europe this evening..."

"Wait now, buddy," said Stiles evenly. "How's that going to solve anything?" 

Derek's eyes flashed. "She's my _sister_!" he growled. "Stiles... I can't lose her again. She's... she's the only family I have."

"Calm down, son," said the Sheriff in a soothing voice. "Don't make any rash decisions just yet. It would take you more than a day to get to Europe, and whatever activity is happening seems to be centred around here. Just tell us what the police officer said." 

Derek managed to nod, and he recounted the conversation. 

"Were there any reports of a missing body turning up?" asked Stiles. Derek shook his head.

"Fuck. Any pattern that was here has upped and left for a three-month holiday in Outer Mongolia," sighed the brunet. "Scott and Isaac have gone missing here in Beacon Hills and replaced by their doppelgängers. Now Cora may or may not have been sucked beyond... sorry Derek... but she's thousands of miles away. Doesn't fit. We've got to get hold of Lorelei." 

Someone spoke behind Stiles.

"I'm here, no need to call."

Stiles yelped, and the Sheriff's eyes went agog. 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph and the friggin' donkey too!" the younger Stilinski screamed as he turned around and stared at his cousin. Would you _stop doing that_! I don't have any adrenal glands left to infarct!"

"Sorry," she said nonchalantly, toying with a lock of her auburn hair. "I just sensed I was needed again. Besides, the house is already clean... at least, _physically_. Although, I have a sense that the activity is not centred around the house any more."

Stiles let his breathing calm down. Oddly, Derek had not seemed to notice her sudden appearance, or didn't care right now.

Lorelei didn't seem surprised when she learned what had happened.  

"Is there any way you could... I don't know, sense if she's with Scott and Isaac?" asked Stiles. 

"It's going to be difficult," she replied. "My gift isn't something I can just turn off or on. Sometimes I get crystal clear flashes, like just now when I sensed I had to come over, other times it’s just a general idea. But I know that it's become frankly dangerous to try and make contact again. The phone's broken, so there's no direct link I could make now.”

“So all we have are time traveling dead bodies, poltergeists and me speaking in tongues.” 

“I was going to ask you about that. How do you know Latin?”

Stiles blinked. He'd forgotten he'd uttered a line of something very ancient, very powerful when the entity disappeared.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, I remember a few lines of the _Gloria_ and the _Agnus Dei_ from when I used to go to Mass with my mom, but that was only because the priest was old school and liked to throw in the odd incantation from before the Second Vatican Council."

Derek raised his eyebrows. 

"Uh," said Stiles, shrugging, "before that Council all Catholic services were said in Latin, with the priest away from the parishioners. Atmospheric, but not exactly conducive to understanding. After that the Order of Mass was translated into all languages. And this was definitely not from the Order of Mass.”

"Whatever you said," said Lorelei, "it sure had an effect." She stared into the middle distance. "I seemed to sense anger... and _fear_ , before the entity left. Can you remember what you said? For a worker my Latin is dreadful, actually, and I've never been a church person, but perhaps if we wrote it down..."

"Um... ab... _ab insidiis diabolis_... something about devils and deliverance...where the hell is Lydia when you need her?"

Derek spoke. " _Deliver us, O Lord, from the snares of the Devil,_ " he said softly. _"_ It's from the Rite of Exorcism. I remember reading it in our family's _Codex_. It has sections on all the major religions and their rites."

"Why am I not surprised," said the Sheriff. "I feel as if I've been sucked into the Bermuda Triangle."

Stiles twitched.

"Triangle? Oh my God, Dad, that's brilliant!" 

"What?" the Sheriff and Derek asked simultaneously.

"Quick! Dad! I need the world map that's on the wall there! And get me a marker!"

His father nodded, sensing the buzz of energy coursing through his son. Stiles's hunches were rarely wrong.  

As soon as the map was spread out in front of him, Stiles's started marking dots furiously and connecting them. 

"What are you doing?"

"The approximate locations where the original disappearances happened. I think they form a shape or something. Let's see... Mmm... Beacon Hills... Bratislava... West Africa... Coast off Ecuador... North-East Brazil..." 

And there it was. A bit skew, because some of the co-ordinates were approximate and the map's Mercator projection distorted things, but still recognisable: 

A pentagram. 

"I knew it," said Stiles. "I fucking knew it. This is like the last time connecting five-fold knots with the Darach. Except now the axes of evil are conveniently spread around the entire fucking planet. We have no idea who's going to disappear next, or where. I mean, the centre of this thing is in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.”

"I don't think there will be any more disappearances," said Lorelei. "Lydia said they need two more just before Isaac disappeared... so with Cora, that's three... this is more of a symbolic thing. It’s an upside down pentagram. Like in Satanic rituals."

"I thought the concept of the Devil is very specific to Christianity?” asked Stiles, confused.  “And you're not into the whole organised religion thing. In fact the Church _burned_ your kind up to very recently."  

"Man creates gods and monsters in his own image," said Lorelei. "And one of evil's greatest tricks is to play into our fears. Christianity is... normative for you Stiles, because of your mother's faith. Whatever's out there is _mocking_ that. There’s nothing inherently evil about a five-pointed star, or the number thirteen for example, but in Western Culture, we’ve given it that meaning.”

“Faith,” snorted Stiles. “It didn’t help my mother very much, did it? And yet she kept on believing. Why did she have to be so damn _good_ …”

Lorelei leant in and touched her little cousin’s cheek. “All I can say is, it wouldn’t matter if you were Buddhist or Jewish or Pastafarian… this _thing_ we’re dealing with will take anything you hold dear and invert it. Just because I don’t condone some of the Church’s stances… okay, a _lot_ of its stances… doesn’t mean I don’t respect people’s right to make sense of the universe in its own way. Am I right, Derek?”

Derek looked up and nodded. “Yeah. It says in our _Codex_ that werewolves are free to believe in whatever they like. So long as they don’t force their views onto others. It only mentions good and evil in terms of something existing out there. There were werewolves in Ancient Greece and China, before Christianity, even before Judaism. We’ve existed in every major faith and culture.”

“Wait now,” said Stiles with horror. “Do you think it’s punishing _me_? For not believing what my mother did? Fuck. Am I responsible for what’s happening to everybody? She— she sacrificed herself for me and now… and now…”

The panic was swirling inside him, coiling and uncoiling, wanting to hiss, wanting to convulse. Without thinking, his hand found Derek’s and squeezed so hard the werewolf shot him a curious glance.

“Easy, Stiles, easy,” said Derek. “Breathe. Like you taught me. Your cousin’s not saying that.” 

“Of course not, sweetie,” said Lorelei. “But this entity trying to mock her… mock you actually. Whether you like it or not, your heritage is a whole stew of cultural baggage. Catholicism. Eastern Europe. Witches… though I prefer the term _workers_. If you yield to the guilt, then you’re letting it win. Listen to Derek, Stiles, zoom out, and let’s focus on the patterns."  

“Okay,” said Stiles, closing his eyes. “So. Things in threes. Obvious reference to the Trinity. Five. Pentagrams. Five wounds of Christ maybe? And, we had a violent reaction to a line from an exorcism ritual. I’m not even thinking about how I knew those words. But like you said, whatever this thing is, it’s not possessing someone physically. It’s gone the other way… it’s pulled individuals to its side. 

“And you’ve angered it,” his cousin replied. “I think I know what just happened.” 

“What?”

“Cora may have gone missing, but I think she wasn’t supposed to… or at least, not yet. _It_ made a mistake, it got distracted, when you confronted it. It didn’t expect that. All the bodies so far have turned up in Beacon Hills. We can’t say for sure where, but I have a hunch the third body is here too. I believe the Sheriff’s reference to triangle may be far more literal than we thought. I think we need another map.”

“Beacon Hills?” asked John.

“Why yes,” said Lorelei. “The Muggle catches on fast.”

John snorted, but reached across for a map of the town.

“But that happened the last time with the Darach,” Stiles protested. “We circled spots of a five-centred knot and it pointed to that magic tree clusterfuck…”

“I know about all that, Stiles. Your father's filled me in.”

“Oh. But what are the chances it’s located there now?”

“Just indulge me, little cousin,” Lorelei continued. “Mark the spots where Scott and Isaac disappeared this time.”

“That’s easy,” he said, making two perfunctory dots. “The Preserve and my house. So what? It’s just a straight line.”

“Try a triangle. Equilateral.”

“I never thought I’d have to use geometry again,” the brunet groaned. Okay, so there are two possibilities… I need a ruler and a protractor… wow, Dad, you actually have one? Awesome… mmm.”

Stiles made a connecting dot, which was in the middle of a strip mall parking lot. 

“They would have called that in already, it's so exposed. Let me try the other side of the line… that should be… oh. Shit.”

“My house,” said Derek in horror.

"Easy, son," said the Sheriff. 

"What if... Cora's been transported there? We have to go now!"

"I'll dispatch a team immediately," said the Sheriff. "But _stay here_ , Derek. I don't want you going to your house right now. Stay here. Please. I promise we'll let you know at once what we find. We need you in charge. Your sister would want that."

Derek stared at John for a few moments, and then lowered his head. "Yes, sir," he said, frowning, and looked down. 

The Sheriff got up and walked towards the front of the station.

"Stiles," said Lorelei. "Stop looking so freaked. Find the middle of the triangle." 

"His hands shook as he drew perpendiculars. They centred on a clearing at the boundary of the Beacon Hills Preserve, just off the highway between town and the suburbs. 

Stiles instantly knew where it was. 

The same clearing Stiles had run to when he had the panic attack so many years ago, en route to the cemetery.  

He stared at the spot. "It's the perfect place for a ritual of some kind," he said.

"What, some kind of Black Mass?" asked Derek.

Lorelei hesitated. “Yes. Though I must point out, very few workers are into dark magic. It's enormously self-destructive. And frankly this mocks what I believe about the Solstice too. But this is old school stuff. And I just realised when it's going to happen. Look at the dates when the people disappeared. June 19, 20, 21, 22. It's close to..." 

"The summer solstice,” Stiles replied. “Shit. The coincidences have practically been screaming at us all this time.' 

"It's in three days," said Lorelei, biting her lip. "I'm so _stupid_ , I thought all the butterflies I've been having in my stomach have been due to the new ma huang tincture I've been taking to cleanse my aura."

"And the Moon will be full and at perigee," Derek added. "Its closest approach for the whole year."

Stiles's fingers went supersonic on the keyboard.

"Not just that," he said. "Its closest approach in _thirteen_ years."

Full Moon. Perigee. Summer Solstice.

_Holy Trifecta, Batman_.

“What now?” asked Stiles. He’d been asking himself this a lot today. “I haven’t been bombarded with this much information since I got locked into the library for a whole day and had accidentally taken a double dose of Adderall.”

“We wait,” said Derek softly. “We have a date and we have a place. In the meantime we have to stick together and learn _everything_ we can. About what, I’m not sure.”

“What do you think, cuz?”

“I agree. The veil between this world and the next is supposedly thinnest at three in the morning, and especially so on a solstice. We _have_ to wait. It’s the only time we can possibly stop what will come. _If_ we can. We all saw what happened just by me trying to have a little look-see.”

“And how are we going to do that, though?” the brunet asked. “I trust your hunch, Lori, it’s the only logical thing that’s come out of this whole day, but _how_ …”

“There is a way,” she said. “But it’s going to be very dangerous. And costly. And I don't know the exact details.”

“Like I’m surprised to hear that,” said Stiles, sighing. “I’ve been technically _dead_ before, when that batshit crazy bitch tried to sacrifice the good people of Beacon Hills to secure her win for Best Reanimated Feature at the 666th Apocalypse Awards. It wants a sacrifice? Yeah, well, zero points for originality.'  

Derek was still reeling from the news of Cora’s disappearance, but couldn’t help looking on astonished at the repartee. 

“Stiles, this is nothing you…or any of us… have encountered before. I’m terrified. I’m not worried about your life. There are fates much worse than death…”

Stiles was irritated.

“Cuz, could you spare me the platitudes and maybe put your Dumbledore hat on and start looking at rituals or protection spells or something?”

“I’m a just a Seer, an elementary one at that, not a real witch… I mean, worker, sweetie.”

“Bullshit,” said Stiles. “You _do_ have a gift. Gifts, actually. When you’re not siphoning money off tourists with your Patrick Jane pre-Red John routine. Why the hell do you think you’re of the first people in this case to make any _sense_? Even if my nose is practically clogged by all that god-awful patchouli and any more of that herbal tea is going to make me hurl onto your vegan leather sandals.”

Lorelei gave a little smile and flicked an auburn out of her eyes.

“I’m so pleased the Dvorak sass runs strong in you, Stilesey.” 

“Mm.”

“Now,” said Lorelei, turning to the werewolf. “Derek. About Cora. As I recall, there are Supreme Councils of Werewolves all over the world?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Surely a missing American werewolf needs to be reported to whatever authority oversees Slovakia?”

“Yes,” said Stiles, attacking the computer again. “That would be… let me see… the Central European Supreme Council. It’s headquartered in Vienna. Covers Austria, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary and Poland. Bratislava’s only a couple of miles away from Vienna, as I remember from geography.”

“Stiles,” said Derek, “how on Earth can you access information like that on the net?”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Never mind.”

“They actually have an address and a _phone_ number., Sourwolf. How do you guys get hold of your own Supreme Council? Little werewolf smoke signals?”

Derek sighed. “I’ve never had to. It’s in the Codex, there are rituals… my mother did all of that.”

“Where is the Hale family’s Codex?” asked Lorelei. 

Derek looked away. 

“It’s _missing_?” said the redhead. “That’s serious!”

Stiles flashed her a cautionary look and placed his index finger on his lips. Lorelei seemed to get it, and formed her lips into a quiet ‘o’.

“I’ll get Deaton to contact them,” she said gently. “You focus on getting the pack together, tomorrow, when we've all had a rest. Stiles can start researching with me and Dr Deaton. I’ll go with your father and he can drop me at Alan’s. You boys… stick together for now.  You look like you both need a cup of Ovaltine or something.”  
  
She got up and left Stiles and the werewolf sitting in an awkward silence.

“Hey,” said the brunet eventually. “You okay? I mean… you’re not okay, but still…”

“I don’t know, Stiles.”

“Let’s drive back to my our private Amityville. If we’re going to be miserable, at least we can be miserable in comfort.”

 

 

*

Stiles didn’t have Ovaltine in his house, but he did have hot chocolate. He shoved the steaming mug in front of Derek who was sitting on the sofa, robotically flicking through channels on the TV.

“Thanks,” he said in a monotone, and slurped a big sip.

“Oh _shit_ ,” said Stiles. “Can you guys have chocolate even? That wasn’t meant as a dog reference, but, I know it’s poisonous to canines.”

Derek huffed. “It’s okay in moderate amounts. My mom used to make hot chocolate for me when I was little and couldn’t sleep. If we eat too much we get headaches and nausea, but this is fine. You’re… sweet for thinking of that.”

_Sweet,_ thought Stiles. It was all he could do not to hug him right now. They had done a lot of hugging and even some –of course totally platonic?– spooning lately, and it was confusing him.

The brunet zoned out where he’d sat down next to Derek and the next thing he’d nodded off. 

It was raining softly when he woke up and just past midnight. He rubbed his eyes and shuffled groggily to his feet, forcing himself to get to bed so that he wouldn't end up like a washed-up jellyfish in the morning. As he walked towards the staircase he caught sight of Derek standing on the porch looking out, resting his hands on the railing.

Stiles cautiously walked up to him, thinking he didn't want to startle Derek, even though he would have picked up his scent and footsteps immediately. 

" 'Sup, Big Bad? How long have you been standing out there? 

"Oh. Hey. I don't know. A while."

"How are you feeling now?"

Derek blinked. "I'm scared, Stiles."

"I know. It's all so confusing."

"Your father called. They did find a body in my house, and they're still there, sorting out things. But it's not Cora. Am I a bad person for being relieved about that? I can't even think what I'd do."

When Derek started whining, so openly in front of him, Stiles couldn't take it any more.

"Look at me, Derek," he said gently, but firmly. The werewolf met his eyes gingerly.

"It's going to be okay. It _has_ to be. I believe in you. I believe in this pack." 

"I'm scared you'll get hurt, Stiles. I can't let anyone get hurt any more. This thing's after you."

"Would you stop trying to protect everyone from everything? You're not responsible for the world being the crazy wonderful fucked-up rogue little planet it is!"

"I gave the Codex to Kate."

"You were what, _fifteen, sixteen_? She took advantage of you! My mom always said hate is a terribly destructive emotion but I _hate_ her with every fibre of my being.You're beating yourself up for being trusting!"

Derek winced and clawed hands dug themselves into the top of the railing. "I know, Stiles, my head knows that..." 

Stiles grabbed Derek by his Henley and pulled the werewolf close to his face. "But your heart doesn't. I know that. And I know I'm being the pot calling the kettle black. But still."

"I didn't trust you, Stiles," he said, his eyes moistening. "I should have."

"Yeah, so what, you were reeling with hurt. I didn't really take it personally."

"I would have."

"Whatever," the brunet said, not taking his gaze off the werewolf. "There's no crime in being angry and aloof and wary, and it did look badass with your stupid awesome leather jacket. Do you trust me now?"

"Y-yes."

"God, Derek, then what's the problem?"

"This," he gasped, bringing his face so close to Stiles that his stubble grazed the younger man's chin.

"Derek," Stiles whispered, trembling.

The kiss was gentle and quick, like a brief flash of lightning on a distant horizon. In the spaces of the dark their breath misted and blended into a tiny whirpool galaxy. Stiles's arms flailed and he toppled backwards, slumping against the railing. Derek's face was wet.

"I'm... I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and barely audible. "I... can't... I..."

He dashed inside and leapt up the stairs in a single bound.

"Derek! Wait!"

Stiles was still sitting on the floor when he heard Derek's bedroom door slam and a soft mournful howl blending with the soft hiss of the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've taken a while to update but I'm having to arrange the plot bunnies very carefully. This is probably the most complex plot I've ever attempted. Also, I'm taking part in Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) so am busying myself with the challenge of creating a work of at least 50 000 words before the end of November! I won't neglect this story though, but expect my updates to be a little slower. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading and commenting! It's SUCH a joy getting feedback from you guys, good or bad, because this is what makes me grow as a writer.


	21. The Floors of Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...What had he done? Exactly what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. He’d gone and ruined it all, he thought, messed up this fragile friendship he’d built up with the young man in just a matter of days.
> 
> Typical.
> 
> And now, his heart was seared with a deep ague, a longing he had never felt so intensely before. It frightened him. It made his wolf whine and cry and howl. He felt light, he felt heavy. For the first time in his life, he understood it when people said that they didn’t know whether to laugh or cry...

The great karst cliffs of Phi Phi Lei glowed pink like strawberry-coloured glaciers as the ferry chugged into the arc of Tonsai harbour. The journey from Koh Lanta had been a queasy, humid undulation. It was an unbearable sauna inside the boat even as the rain came down in sheets upon the Andaman Sea. An old French woman had gotten sick moments after they were on the open water, and the people had squirmed away from her in a horrified wave. Only Stiles's mother got up. She offered her her packet of facial wipes and passed her a bottle of water, gently ignoring the woman's embarrassment.  

" _Merci beaucoup_ ," she said to Claudia. " _Je suis très gênée._."

" _De rien_ ," Claudia replied. In between her broken French and the older woman's fractured English, she had told her she knew what it felt like. Stiles's mom practically had a degree in managing nausea. She had only had one cycle of chemo so far, but the nausea had been far, far worse than the pain from the mastectomy or the way the necessary poisons had leached away cell after cell after cell, not caring if they brought evil or good to her body. 

"You're amazing," said John, kissing his wife as she sat back down between him and Stiles. She smiled wanly and dusted herself with the camphor and menthol talc she had bought in Krabi, soothing her flushed skin with its gentle tingle. 

Stiles loved the smell. It was clean and fresh and medicinal in a comforting way. When they cleared out her stuff after she died, he found the empty tin she had kept as a souvenir. He buried it at the back of his desk drawer, too afraid to take it out and look at it, too afraid to throw it away.

The rain ended suddenly just a few miles before they passed the eastern tip of the main island. Stiles was agog as the cliffs came into view.  Swathes of jungle tumbled over their tops like frozen green waterfalls.

It was one of the most beautiful sights he had ever seen. His parents had to nudge him forward as the queue of weary travellers snaked itself off the ferry and into the tiny port village towards their hotels and resorts. Late that night, he wandered out of the cabin and on to the front beach of the resort, craning his head up to stare at the coruscated ink of the sky, blown clear by winds way off from Sri Lanka.

He saw a particularly bright star, twinkling through all the colours of the spectrum: now diamond, now ruby, now emerald. 

The ocean lapped in tiny hushes around his feet where a twisted branch lay upon the beach.

He heard his mother's soft footfalls behind him.

"Stiles?"

"Hi, Mom," he said, not taking his gaze off the sky. 

"What are you doing, honey? I woke up and saw the door was open."

"Sorry. I'm looking at the stars." He pointed. "That star. It's so bright." 

Claudia followed his gaze, and saw the multicoloured dot and shivered. Far off, a milky sheet of lightning flickered in and out existence. 

"It's called Algol," she said quietly. 

"That's a cool name. How do you know?"

"Deda taught me. It's Arabic.” 

_Al-Gol. Ghoul. The Demon._

“What does it mean?”

“It’s just an old name,” she lied. “But let me show you something even better. She pointed in a different direction. "Look there." 

"Wow, Mom, that's even brighter!"

"That's the brightest star in the sky. Sirius. It's called the Dog Star."

_The friendly star, my father told me.The one that will always guide you._

“That’s in Canis Major, isn’t it? I read about it."

Claudia sat down near her son and brought her knees to her chest, smiling. The kid absorbed facts like a sponge. It had taken him only two days in Bangkok to pick up several Thai words; he was fascinated how the grammar differed for men and women. 

"That's right, sweetheart. The Greater Dog. You know, there's a wolf in the sky too. _Lupus_. It's difficult to see because it's dim, but Deda showed me once through a telescope. The constellation's stars are all aglow. One of the prettiest things I've ever seen."

"That's so cool. People always say bad things about wolves. I'm not scared of them. I'd love to see one one day."

"You're a clever young man," said his mother. "When your Deda's family escaped from Czechoslovakia, they had to run through the forest before they got to the Austrian border. Deda was sixteen. At some stage he got separated from his family, and he couldn't make a noise because the guards might have heard him. He said he was stumbling about when a large wolf come up to him just as he was at the border fence."

"What happened?" said Stiles, wide-eyed.

"He was petrified. He said the wolf just stared at him and sniffed, then gave a soft bark and walked off. But it kept looking back at him. It was as if the wolf was telling him to follow him." 

"Did he?"

"He did. And then the wolf stopped where there was a hollow underneath the fence. Your Deda was able to escape."

"I didn't know that."

"Deda never talks about it. He'll only speak about his childhood in Prague, before the tanks rolled into the city. How he managed to meet up with your Babi and his sister in Salzburg is a miracle. They were the only ones who survived. He told me the story only once, and burst into tears. But in two months they got refugee status and ended up on a boat to New York. He told me the wolf gave him courage to carry on."

_"_ I want to see Prague one day. And the forests. And speak Czech to the people."

"You will, my love. You should go travelling after school like I did. And maybe you will see it with someone special."

_Someone to watch over him. Someone whom he can watch over in return. Because I won't be there._

She got up and took her son's hand and led him back to the cabin.

The next day they hired a longtail boat to go swimming in the protected bay off the smaller island, surrounded by white cliffs that were the walls of a great rock cathedral. Stiles wanted to float in that warm turquoise water forever, watching his father do silly handstands and hearing his mother's laughter when she surfaced after diving off the boat.

He smelt ocean and lime and mint wherever he went those blessed three weeks; he forgot about the scents of antiseptic and fear in the corridors of the hospital. He didn't dream of snowstorms and monsters; he dreamt of golden Buddhas and steaming jungles and lazy old crabs with barnacles on their backs. 

The day before they left Phi Phi for Phuket he ran into the forest halfway between the resort and Tonsai. He his eyes and wished he could stay on the island forever, where his father was smiling and his mother was constantly singing.

  

 

*

Derek didn’t know how long he had been sitting on the edge of the roof staring out into the middle distance. All he knew was that he was tired and confused. A gibbous moon was starting to descend, but gave enough light to scatter shadows on the hills in the distance. He tried to concentrate on the sound of the crickets and nightjars, hoping it would drown out the thoughts whirling about inside him.

It didn’t.

What had he done? Exactly what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. He’d gone and ruined it all, he thought, messed up this fragile friendship he’d built up with the young man in just a matter of days.

_Typical_.

And now, his heart was seared with a deep ague, a longing he had never felt so intensely before. It frightened him. It made his wolf whine and cry and howl. He felt light, he felt heavy. For the first time in his life, he understood it when people said that they didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He wished he could run away, run, run, run into the forest, until he couldn't breathe any more. But he had to be here, to guard over Stiles. To be so near to him, and yet so far...

He’d been taken aback, at first, when he started opening himself up to the young man with the amber eyes who never stopped talking. He had thought it was brotherly, when their arms were around each other that first time. But he realised now it wasn’t that at all. How he ached when Stiles was sad and hurt, how he laughed when Stiles was happy.  How good it felt to hold him in his arms. How at peace he felt, lying next to him, watching him sleep, desperately trying to be as close to him as possible without waking him.

Stiles had become a friend, sure. Perhaps the best friend he had known since forever. But what was this, this hole in his heart that only ever seemed to be filled when he was around him? He’d never felt that with Kate. Not even with Paige.

And yet he’d treated the kid like shit when he first met him.

_But you could never keep yourself away from him, could you?_

And now, with one stupid kiss he’d frightened him away. One stupid kiss that felt, for a microsecond, as if the world had stopped turning and he could just _be_ , beyond time, beyond place. But perhaps it was better like this, because everything that Derek Hale touched ended up breaking.

But Derek Hale was not a coward. He had promised to lead this pack. For Scott.

_For Stiles_.

It would be the most difficult thing he had done, but he’d go back into his room; prepare for life. Because someone needed to protect the kid, he reasoned _._

“I’m so confused, Mom,” he found himself saying, but didn’t stop himself talking to the night air. “You’d be able to tell me what this is about. You. Or Laura. Or Dad. Or Seth. But none of you are here. I don’t know how to figure this out.”

_These thoughts. These feelings dissolving in my memories._  


He had only one option. He’d bury these feelings for now. There was a war to fight.

He waited until just before sunrise. He wished he could morph into full wolf form like his mother and Laura could and run around in the forest. He noticed his claws had been out all this time, and, sure enough, when he worried his tongue around his mouth, there were fangs.

Derek screwed his eyes tight and took a deep breath.

As the sun started rising he crawled back through his bedroom window and flopped onto the bed. He prayed he would fall asleep quickly, so he couldn't hear Stiles's deep breathing across the passage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for everybody who has taken the time to comment!
> 
> I thought an interlude would be in order after all the frenetic activity. The descriptions of Thailand are based on my own experiences, although strictly speaking the Stilinskis' visit would have occurred just a year or two after the great Indian Ocean Tsunami of 2004. Phi Phi was devastated but recovered quickly; when I visited it two years back one would never have guessed that the place had suffered heavy damage. 
> 
> Also, the positions of the constellations discussed are approximate. I do not know if Algol and Sirius would be visible simultaneously from the latitudes of Thailand. I have made a best guess scenario given that I live in the Southern Hemisphere. 
> 
> I will give further details about Stiles's grandparents later, but suffice it to say that they were young sweethearts who only married much later when they ended up in the United States. Claudia was born in the US as a first generation citizen, while John's family is originally Polish but has been in the US for several generations.


	22. The Morning Comes To Consciousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is a failwolf, and Stiles gets his emotional rights read to him by a certain strawberry blonde.

Stiles hardly slept. 

He cursed himself for getting such a fright when Derek kissed him. 

Derek Hale had _kissed_ him. On the lips. 

It had been less than a second, much shorter than the time with Lydia at school, but it had felt longer. 

And the asshole had run away. Had he gotten a fright too? He had totally gotten a fright. 

The hemispheres of Stiles’s brain fought with each other. Left was saying it was just a crush. Right was telling left to fuck off and face the romantic music. 

Right was winning. Falling in love was not a rational thing. 

But it was the only thing that was starting to make sense. 

 _Oh my God_. 

 _I'm falling in love with Derek Hale_.  

Damn it.  

He stared out of his window for a long time, wondering what Derek was doing. Probably brooding in his room. Stiles had wanted to chase after him, but he was just too tired and overcome and  _raw_. 

By three —a three o'clock mercifully free of any visitations from beyond— he'd eventually dozed off. No dreams intruded. Around seven, he thought he heard a door creak. He needed to pee anyway and when he had done so he cautiously walked up to the guest room. It was ajar by a crack. 

Screw this, thought Stiles, and pushed it open. 

Derek was face down on top of the bed, wearing nothing but his white boxers. The triskelion on his back rippled above his muscles in slow waves as he breathed. 

Fuck, thought Stiles. _I can't wake him now. I wish he were awake so I could give him a piece of my mind. Or a piece of something else._

How could he be so pissed off and so delighted with seeing someone at the same time? 

He had to talk to someone. 

There was time now, before the Solstice, before he had to do the most research he'd ever done in his life. 

He might as well make use of the lull before the shitstorm came, here in the eye of Hurricane Beelzebub. 

He needed to meet someone for breakfast.

 

* 

 

Lydia was looking fabulous as usual, her Jimmy Choos clacking merrily as she walked towards him where Stiles was sitting in the diner. 

"You look like hell," she said, pouting as she sat down opposite him. 

"And hello to you too, my little ChapStick." 

Lydia blew him a truculent kiss. "I sense this is not quite about the looming supernatural crisis."

Stiles beat his foot furiously against the table. 

"You know me too well," the brunet grumbled. 

"Fess up, Stilinski. I have a facial in an hour."

"Okay," said Stiles. "I'm going to come right out and say it. Derek and I... kinda... kissed last night. Not with tongue, though I totally wanted there to be tongue, but then we both sort of freaked out and..."

"Oh thank God!" Lydia sighed and rolled her eyes. " _Finally_. I couldn't bear the angst and longing any more."

"What?! You're not like surprised at all?" 

"Stiles. For a hyper-intelligent person you can be incredibly stupid. The two of you have been eyefucking each other since he came back. Ethan said he could smell the attraction across the room." 

Stiles squeaked. "I need to go boil my head now." 

"It's fine, my little unintended one. I'm thrilled. We could all use some good news right now."

Stiles was silent for a while, breathing deeply as he waited for his embarrassment to abate. 

Lydia took his hand, and he relaxed. He loved this girl so much, and he now knew why. 

She was the crush that had opened up his heart. That innocent first love that always flickers in a tiny flame in a corner of the soul. A little glow carried lifelong without jealousy or malice, casting a gentle light on the peaks and troughs of a yet unwritten life ahead. 

"Do you care about him?" she asked, her eyes soft.

"Yes," he said. It felt good to say that. "More than anything. I'm kind of freaked out by it. I don't know how it happened so quickly."

"Oh please, Stiles. You've felt like this for a long time. I knew it when I saw how gutted you looked when he left. But sometimes the head is oblivious to what the heart feels."

Stiles shook his head in awe at Lydia. She saw right through him. 

"No contest," said Stiles, admitting defeat. "But it doesn't help things. I don't know if he feels the same way. Was I leading him on? He ran away seconds after. 

"Stiles, shut up. You were in therapy for years and you can't wake up and smell the Freudian coffee? He's scared. He's lost so much. Maybe the mountain must come to Muhammad, as my grandmother used to say. Which is why I brought in some backup."

"Huh?"

"Just a moment," she said, getting up and turning around. She looked towards the entrance of the diner and gave a thumbs-up sign. 

Danny sauntered in with a grin. 

Stiles's jaw dropped. 

"Hello," Danny said cheerfully, sitting down next to Stiles and slapping him on the back. "I presume I was right?" 

Stiles groaned, while Lydia nodded with a mischievous smile. She filled Danny in with the details while Stiles's flapjacks arrived and he thought briefly about snorting a packet of artificial sweetener up his nose to see if it could give him an embolism or something. 

 "Would you relax, Stiles?" said Danny. "We're here for you. We figured you could use some advice on how to woo this werewolf of yours. We both have experience in this. It's not like I'm going to jump right in and teach you how to give him a hand job... I mean, unless you'd like me to..." 

Lydia giggled as Stiles tried to disappear into the floor. They let him calm down, Lydia nonchalantly pausing to reapply some mascara while Danny ordered some breakfast. 

"So I'm gay now?" Stiles said eventually. "I've gone and dropped a big gay bomb on Derek I-must-have-bedded-a-thousand-babes Hale?"

"Chill out already, Stiles," said Danny. "I think you're bi. Because you're one of the most open- minded people I know, and that's a compliment, buddy. What does it matter? Derek kissed you. The ball is in your court now."

"Or balls," said Lydia, batting her eyelids. "As it were."

Stiles went pale, and Danny burst out laughing. 

"You guys are enjoying this, aren't you," Stiles groaned. 

"Immensely," said Lydia with a grin. 

Stiles clenched his jaw, and slowly exhaled.

"What if I scare him away... again?"

"Stiles _, darling_ ," the strawberry blonde said. "Listen carefully. For all we know the world might end in a few day's time. Do you honestly want to miss out on at least trying to get what you want... what _you_ need for a change? I don't regret being with Jackson. It hurt, but I think I've moved on."

"Go for it," said Danny, nodding. "We'll catch you if you fall. You're going to have to tell him how you feel. He's probably all confused and angry with himself. 

"I'm scared."

"Of course you are. Because you care."

"What do I do?"

"Eat your flapjacks," said Lydia, "and we'll give you the lowdown."

Stiles was silent as they spoke for nearly half an hour, probably a world record. To their credit, Danny and Lydia were gentle and non-confrontational. Stiles almost felt normal when they had finished. 

"Thanks," he said eventually as they finished their coffee. 

"Any time," said Danny, giving him a little punch on the shoulder. 

"One thing," said the brunet, "about tonight. I don't know where to start researching. Or what we’re going to come up with tonight. Deaton said I just have to trust my hunches — he's given me all his books. But Lorelei says the key information would be in a Codex, and the Hale Codex is missing. And we're two werewolves down. There's just Derek and your boyfriends. How is the pack going to be strong enough?

"We can worry about that tonight, Stiles," said Lydia. "Right now you should rest. Derek can stew in things a little bit until you're feeling fresher. I have to go, there's a suite of Dermalogica waiting for me."

She kissed him on the forehead and waved goodbye to the two young men. 

"I think I need to head off too," said Danny. "Ethan needs some attention. You go home... and remember what we told you."

As Stiles walked towards his Jeep he realised that he had become Alice, and he was in a never-ending free fall down a rabbit hole. 

 

* 

 

Derek was not home when Stiles returned around noon, though it was clear from the clothes in the laundry basket and the plates in the dishwasher he hadn't run away.  

Stiles slept until five. After a delicious half an hour percolating in a luke-warm bath, complete with bubbles and a rubber ducky, he pulled on some jeans and the Batman T-shirt Scott had given him for Christmas and walked down the stairs. 

He was not surprised to find Derek sitting on the couch looking tragic, even as his heart rate leapt up briefly.  

"Hey," Stiles said, trying to sound as calm as possible. 

"Hi," Derek replied, his head lowered and glancing askance at the younger man. He looked like a puppy who had peed on the carpet. 

Stiles sat down on the far end of the couch. A little small talk would help right now while he found his courage.  

"How was your day?" he asked, meaning, of course _, how was your night, failwolf_? 

"I, um, went to the station and gave your dad a hand with some stuff. He's still there. And Lorelei's gone to Deaton. I dropped by to check on Scott's mom on the way back here." 

"How is she doing?"

"Bearing up, under the circumstances. She's still working shifts. Danny's doing a good job looking after her, and the Argents have been around."

"God, I haven't even thought of Allison. I mean, Scott's her mate, as I understand it. Them being separated..."

"It's the deepest bond there is," said Derek, looking away. "When a werewolf finds his mate, it turns his or her world upside-down, and they are bound forever. That's what my mom told me."

"Forever?"

"Yeah. At least from the werewolf's point of view. If their mate is a human, the human's not bound to reciprocate. The werewolf won't ever bond with anybody else for the rest of their lives."

"Holy shit. That's intense. But beautiful."

"Yeah," said Derek, blowing out his cheeks. "But Allison is strong. And so is Scott's mom. We're going to be there for them."

"Of course," said Stiles. “We have to be.”

They sat in silence for a while. Stiles started fidgeting, and then stopped himself. This had to play out. Now. 

"So." the brunet ventured.  

Derek looked at him curiously. "So?" he replied with trepidation. 

"About what happened last night." Stiles's heart was racing now, but he made the words come out as evenly as he could. "We need to talk about this."

He fixed his gaze on the werewolf, who looked stricken.  

"Derek."

"St-Stiles," he stammered, "I'm so sorry. I didn't know was thinking. I didn't mean to..."

That was it.

"You didn't meant to what, finally kiss me and then run away and leave me there like some dumb Disney princess whose Prince Charming ditched her in the middle of their big fat Academy Award-winning love song?" 

"What?!"

"I'm sorry I freaked out for a moment, but I just got taken by surprise. Then you up and left even as I was yelling at you to stay!" 

"You mean you're not mad at me... kissing you?"

" _No_ , you silly wolf, no! I'm just pissed as hell you didn't give me a chance to... I don't know, kiss you back or something... God, Derek, this is all new for me, but how can you just assume that I might not feel the same way I hope you feel... about me?!"

There he'd said it. Derek whined a little. _Fuck it,_ thought Stiles, and edged closer to the wide-eyed werewolf. 

"I didn't think..." Derek managed. 

"I didn't think either. I had an epiphany today, Derek, or more like I was dragged kicking and screaming into an epiphany by Lydia and Danny."

"They know how I feel?" Derek asked with mild horror. 

" _Aha_! You admit it! You _do_ have feelings for me!"

"Is it that obvious," said Derek miserably. 

"Well, maybe I wasn’t aware of it at first, too, Sourwolf. But I am now. I said I wanted to get to know Derek Hale. Be friends. But... Jesus, Derek, I have to say it now or I never will, and then you can run away if you have to... I want _more_. I care about you. I'm falling for you... I'm..."

"I'm dreaming," said Derek. He felt his heart beating as fast as the brunet's. 

Stiles reached out and grabbed Derek's hand and leant forward. 

"Tell me this is a dream," the younger man said, and brought his face right up to the werewolf's. 

Then they were kissing, and they weren't pulling apart. Gently, Derek's tongue found its way between Stiles's lips. He yielded his mouth to him instantly. Stiles's hands were everywhere, seeking purchase until they came to a rest on Derek's neck. The werewolf, emboldened, threw his arms around the younger man and gripped him tightly. He pushed Stiles down and continued kissing him until they had exhausted their breath. 

"Stiles," he gasped, panting. 

"That's my name," said the brunet, grinning stupidly. "I see you're _not_ running away now."

"No," replied Derek, smiling shyly. 

They stared at each other for a few moments. If they were aware of what was happening in each other's pants, neither of them said anything. 

Derek ran his hand tenderly through Stiles's hair, and kissed him on the forehead. He slid off Stiles gently and propped himself up, chuckling softly. 

"Derek?" said Stiles. "What's it?"

"Nothing," he said, but Stiles saw his face flush. 

"Are you _shy_ , Derek Hale?" he asked, sitting up and poking him in the ribs. 

"Maybe a little."

"Oh my God. That is so cute. Big Bad Wolf is shy."

Derek snorted, but put his arm around Stiles anyway and drew him in close. 

"You’re right,” he said, as Stiles rested his head on the werewolf's shoulder. “It’s all new.” 

“Or maybe not. We've both been so stupid. Ignoring the so not-cuddling and not-spooning and not-gazing at each other like some Mills and Boon / Twilight crossover." 

"You're cute, and funny," said Derek. "I just don't want to rush..."

"Of course not," said Stiles. "Virgin here with no experience! I'm overwhelmed enough right now finding out my unrequited pining wasn't unrequited after all."

He wasn't being entirely honest about the fact that he could so totally have Derek ravage him on the couch right now. But that was okay, because he could wait, because Derek was a gentle wolf who'd just opened up his most vulnerable side to him. 

Stiles was still a gangly bag of hormones, but he was not a bastard. He was not going to be that guy.

"That means a lot to me," said Derek.  "Though I have to kiss you again now. Urgently."

"And then, cuddles," Stiles said, bounding up and down. "We so totally need to have post making out cuddles without any over-analyzing. And spooning. And then more kissing. Like lots. Before anyone's home. We have two hours before the pack meets up and I totally haven't done any more research yet but fuck that I just want to be here right now with you and shall we go up to my room because I have this great mix on my iPod that I always wanted to make out to and..."

"Shut up, Stiles," said Derek, and then their lips locked again. 

The door opened. 

"Ahem," said a voice. 

Derek and Stiles broke apart and stared in shock at the Sheriff. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not an evil person after all. Derek Hale gets some respite... for now mwahahahahaha ;) 
> 
> Thanks so much for the awesome and unprecedented response guys! Really appreciate it!
> 
> Brownie points for those who can pick out where the title of the chapter comes from ;)


	23. Don't Be Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sit down, Derek," said John, pulling out a seat. John settled himself across his desk in what Stiles called his Dr Evil Chair. 
> 
> "I always thought I was going to have this conversation with Stiles when he eventually started dating a girl, but, things turn out differently than one expects."
> 
> Derek could only nod. He'd never felt so petrified in his life.
> 
> "I've had you arrested. Twice. Even though you were innocent. I don't care if you're a werewolf. I know you've promised me you'll never hurt him knowingly, but we must be crystal clear on the fact that if that were ever to happen I know exactly how to use a wolfsbane bullet."
> 
> Derek's voice was painfully meek. "Yes, Sir."

"Boys." 

The Sheriff was looking at them with an unreadable expression, his brow furrowed and his lips pursed.

"Dad!" Stiles said, his voice squeaking. "H-hey there! We were just... just..." 

"I think it's pretty obvious what you were doing," John said, sighing. Derek was pale and balled his fists.

"Please, Dad!" Stiles yelped. "This isn't... isn't what you think it is... there was no sex, promise!"

"Stiles!" cried the Sheriff.  "I don't really want to know the details.”

Derek was looking absolutely terrified. 

"Sorry," Stiles continued jabbering, "I promise this is innocent! Totally! It's been a rough couple of days and we're not quite sure yet but we're both over eighteen and..."

"I know you're eighteen, Stiles," the Sheriff said, his expression now resigned. "I can't tell you what to do in your personal life any more. This has just been an extraordinarily strange week and I just didn't expect you making out on the couch with _Derek_."

"Sir..." managed Derek.

"Wait, Derek. The two of you don't have to look so guilty, by the way. I'm not saying I disapprove." 

Stiles gasped. "Dad..." 

"Stiles, do you honestly think I'm a tyrant? And to be honest, I sensed there was something going on between the two of you since I came back. Maybe even if you weren't aware of it." 

"God in Heaven," Stiles cried, throwing up his arms, "did _everyone_ figure this out before we even knew it?"

"I wasn't going to say anything," said the Sheriff gently, "in case my hunch was off. Your mother would have been right on from the beginning, but I think I know my son well enough." 

John fixed his gaze upon the werewolf, who had practically folded himself into the fetal position.

"Derek, you do realise that if Stiles were even a day younger than eighteen, I would have threatened you with my shotgun?" 

"That's not necessary, Dad!"

"It's okay," said Derek, his voice low. "He's your only son, Sir. But I promise you I would never hurt him."

"I know," the Sheriff replied. "But while we have time, before we all meet up tonight to decide what in God's name we're going to come up with for the next few days, I need to talk to Derek."

Derek's eyes were like saucers, while Stiles buried his head in his hands with embarrassment. 

"Go up to your room, Stiles, and get on with what Deaton and Lorelei have charged you to do. Derek, would you come with me to my study?"

Stiles sighed and walked wearily out of the den, shaking his head as he paused by the staircase. John led Derek down the corridor to the study, Derek following meekly like a prisoner on Death Row.

 

*

 

"Sit down, Derek," said John, pulling out a seat. John settled himself across his desk in what Stiles called his Dr Evil Chair. 

"I always thought I was going to have this conversation with Stiles when he eventually started dating a girl, but, things turn out differently than one expects."

Derek could only nod. He'd never felt so petrified in his life.

"I've had you arrested. Twice. Even though you were innocent. I don't care if you're a werewolf. I know you've promised me you'll never hurt him knowingly, but we must be crystal clear on the fact that if that were ever to happen I know exactly how to use a wolfsbane bullet."

Derek's voice was painfully meek. "Yes, Sir."

"It's John, Derek. We're all grown-ups here. Stiles is still young, and vulnerable. But the age difference was the same between myself and my wife, and she was nineteen when we met."

Derek relaxed a little.

"You don't need my blessing," John continued, "but I don't really have an objection. How serious is this?"

"I'm not going to lie, Sir... John... I've... I've never felt this way about anyone before. I don't think either of us expected this. Your son is the most special person I've ever met. I'd... I'd protect him with my life." 

The Sheriff nodded. "I believe that. And I know you've been there for each other for a long time. He's stubborn, and obnoxious, and way too clever for his own good, but he's so loyal and honest and so damn full of integrity. Just like his mother." 

"I couldn't agree with you more. I knew your wife... briefly... she taught me at middle school. In fact, I think I saw her with Stiles once."

The Sheriff was wistful. "I didn't know that. I think she would have been pleased to get to know you better. We knew your own mother, too. In fact she was responsible for organising an amazing trip to Thailand. Shortly before Claudia died." 

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Derek managed, trying desperately to hide the ache coursing through his body.

"Yours too," replied the Sheriff. "Your family were always upstanding citizens. You're a good man too, Derek. I only hope you realise that some day."

Derek was stunned, and swore he could hear his own father speaking to him. 

"You're too kind," he said, gazing at the floor.

"Perhaps you should go rest. Or give Stiles a hand. I only ask that if you two close the door if you want to... you know. Do we have to have a safe sex talk?"

"God! No!" Derek cried, blushing. "It's hardly been twenty-four hours... and... I've not... it's been so long since... I would _never ever_ do anything Stiles wasn't comfortable with..."

"You don't have to give me the details, son," the Sheriff said, smirking. "But I was a young buck your age, once. I can see your intentions are basically pure. Just please use… _oh my God_ … condoms… when you get there. There. I’ve said it.”

Derek’s jaw dropped.

“Sorry. I’m a parent.”

The Sheriff’s voice went soft. He realised he’d touched a nerve. “Kate... she hurt you, didn't she?" 

Derek screwed his eyes tight and shook slightly.

"It's okay, son," John said, and squeezed Derek's hand. "I think I know what she did to you. But I can tell you now, you don't have to be afraid to trust my son. Just for God's sake take it slow, for both your sakes."

Derek could only nod. 

"Okay, Derek, I think you've been grilled enough now, and this old man needs to do some more work. Off you go."

Derek smiled shyly,  getting up. 

The relief had made him giddy, and all he wanted to do now was curl up on Stiles's bed, just drinking in the brunet's presence in the room, listening to the white noise of his hands clattering away on his laptop. 

 

*

 

“Survived?” said Stiles as Derek walked into his room.

Derek smiled sheepishly and nodded.

“He’s a big pussycat, really,” said the brunet. “Though I perhaps don’t want to know what he said to you.”

“I’ll spare you the more embarrassing details,” the werewolf said, “but he told me what any father would say who loves his child. And he’s right. I would do the same.”

Derek flopped onto the bed.

“Do you mind if I just… lie here a bit while you work?”

“Not at all. I think I might join you soon, I’m just in the middle of something. It’s not much, but it’s a start. One on condition, though?”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re totally spending the night with me, Big Bad. So we can _officially_ spoon."  

“That would be… awesome.”

“I haven’t thought about what we’re going to tell the others… though Lydia has probably blabbed it to the rest of the world already.”

“I think Lorelei knew, from the start. She cornered me the first day we met. I think, somehow, she gave me the courage to stick by what I was feeling all along.”

“Maybe sometimes we need a little push. Especially emotionally constipated sourwolves.”

Derek yawned, smiling. “Stiles?” he said, settling himself on the bed. “Thank you.”

“For what?” 

“For not pushing me away. For being there.” 

Stiles blushed, bashful now himself. “Of course. Now get your rest, Balto.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Derek, and pulled the comforter over himself.

 

*

 

_It had rained the night before, and the forest was heady with the scent of moss and wet earth. She saw bright red toadstools flanking the side of the path, and heard the stream rushing in the distance. She walked at a gentle pace for a while and presently saw that the path forked in two directions._

_She had never been so deep into the forest before, and cursed herself when she realised she’d forgotten the map her father had given her. It was dark and chilly here, and she pulled her red cloak tightly around her shoulders._

_“Hello there, Little Red,” said a voice._

_“Who’s that?” the young woman cried, startled._

_“Don’t be afraid, I’m a friend.”_  

_She looked around, and gasped as a large wolf stepped out from the trees. It was the same wolf whom her father had saved years ago. He was in his prime now, grey and tawny with green eyes, and he flattened his ears as he looked at her._

_“How can I trust you?” said the girl. “And how do you know what people call me?”_  

_“I’ve known you for a long time,” said the wolf. “I’ve watched you from a distance playing in the forest. Years ago, your father saved me when I was injured. Don’t you think I could have attacked you whenever I wanted?”_  

_“Perhaps,” Little Red said, her hand fumbling for the knife inside the basket just in case. But the wolf’s eyes were gentle, and she relaxed._

_“Have you been following me?”_

_“Yes,” the wolf confessed. “I noticed you’ve never been this deep into the woods before.”_

_“I’m visiting my grandmother, who lives on the other side of the woods. She’s ill, and the road around the forest will take too long.”_

_“Does she live in the little yellow cottage overlooking the valley?”_

_Little Red nodded._

_“I know the way. You can get on top of me if you like, I can carry you."_  

_“You don’t need to.”_

_“You can trust me. And I know you have a knife in your basket, and if I did anything untoward, you could slash my throat in a second if you were astride me.”_

_He lay down in front of her and cocked his head, waiting. She took a deep breath and climbed on top of him, cautiously holding onto his scruff as he got up and started walking. She was surprised how soft and silky he was. Then she remembered how her father had once told her that wolves were not the fierce creatures they were made out to be._  

_“They say your grandmother is a witch,” said the wolf as they walked deeper and deeper into the forest, “but I’ve heard she’s a healer too.”_

_“Which is why I’m so worried,” Little Red said, “because something must have gone wrong for her to be ill herself.”_

_“Don’t worry,” said the wolf. “We’ll get there quickly, I know a short-cut.”_

_Half an hour later, they had made their way through the thickest part of the forest and the trees were thinning out. In the distance Little Red could see the tiny yellow dot that was the cottage, perched at the edge of the woods._

_“See?” said the wolf. “We’re close.”_

_“You spoke the truth, wolf, I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”_

_“I’m not offended,” he said. “I’m used to people not trusting me.”_  

_Suddenly the wolf stiffened and started growling._  

_“What’s wrong?” asked Little Red, her eyes widening._  

_“Your grandmother. She’s in danger. I can smell it.”_  

_“We better get there fast!” cried the young woman._  

_“Hold on tight,” said the wolf, and took off at a great speed…_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheriff Stilinski is a good man. I'd never mess with that canon.


	24. Divisions and Precisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was silence as Stiles wrote. Then, just as suddenly as the flames had sprung up, they disappeared. Stiles went limp in Derek’s arms and the pen clattered to the floor. 
> 
> “Stiles!” the werewolf hissed. “Stiles!”
> 
> The pack crowded around the brunet, wide-eyed and worried. Stiles’s eyes fluttered, and then he coughed.
> 
> “What… what just happened?” he said, looking around confused. 
> 
> “You tell me,” said Deaton, who held up the Codex where Stiles had written out several pages. 
> 
> “I think there’s our answer,” said Lydia. “And this time, we can understand it.”
> 
> It was in an old Gothic script, but clearly recognisable as English.

Stiles and Derek had decided there could be no time for awkward glances or longing stares across the dining room table: they might as well be open about things.

Imminent apocalypse tended to do that.

Nobody said anything as the pack assembled in the Stilinskis’ den, but when Stiles eventually reached for Derek's hand Danny winked at them and Lydia gave a little smile.

Outside, an unseasonable mist had rolled in from Hill Valley, and the usual sounds of a summer night were conspicuously absent. The pack chatted amongst themselves, Melissa and Allison busying themselves with handing out tea and cookies. Nobody seemed to want to talk about the fact that they were here to make sense of a terrible evil presence. 

Eventually, Derek stood up and cleared his throat. 

"We should get things going."

The pack quietened down and looked at the acting Alpha. Derek looked calm, in command. 

"First thing," he said. "Stiles, come over here."

His boyfriend of barely 24 hours got up, looking slightly confused and stood by the werewolf's side.

Derek put his arm around him. "It's probably common knowledge already, but, I just want to make it known officially that Stiles and I are... well... seeing each other."

"We haven't even been out on a date yet!" Stiles piped up.

Danny chuckled.

"So... if anybody has a problem with that, they had better speak up now," the werewolf continued.

"Oh please," Lydia sighed. "Will you just shut up and _kiss him already_? We've got a lot to get through."

The rest of the crowd applauded, and Derek's ears reddened. Stiles resisted the urge to tickle them. 

"That'll do," said Derek in a distinctly Alpha-like tone, and, to his surprise, the pack quietened. "Lorelei; Alan. You said you were spending the day consulting all your resources. Is there anything you've come up with?"

"Beacon Hills has been an ancient site for supernatural activity," said Alan. "We all know that, really. Recent events have strengthened that fact."

"But it's been so quiet since... since the Nemeton," said Allison.

"That's precisely it. When you and Stiles and Scott sacrificed yourselves and the Darach was vanquished, it _used up_ the local activity. But a larger pattern has been operating for the past 75 years: the disappearances, the pentagram on the world map. And now activity has been leaking back, in fits and starts.” 

"Leaking?" asked Danny. 

"Yes. It’s as if something has been storing activity, stockpiling it..." 

"You mean, like a giant supernatural capacitor?" asked Stiles. "Oh my God. And tomorrow's the Solstice. It's going to come through the ritual and start sucking everything with a soul dry!" 

"Precisely," said Lorelei. "It's _hungry_."  

"How do we stop it?" asked Derek, calmly.

"All we could find are references to a counter-ritual," she continued. "Something that must be done at the _same time_ as the Black Mass, to create a second portal to send the entity back. Except the entity knows this. I was wrong to make such an effort to contact it... I've irritated it, angered it."

"So what do we do?" asked Stiles. "And how do we get Scott and Isaac and Cora back?" 

Lorelei shrugged, looking dejected. "I... I don't know. Supposedly the information is in the werewolf Codex."

Derek whined softly. "Then there's little we can do," he said in a whisper. And our pack is down to three wolves. I don't know if we'll be able to protect you all..."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," said Lydia, not looking up from her cellphone where she was furiously texting. "Damn, he's not answering his texts." 

The pack stared quizzically at her as she dialled a number and held it to her ear. Derek cocked his head. He heard a phone ringing outside. 

"Well, come in already!" Lydia sighed and ended the call.  

They heard the front door open and footsteps. Aiden sprang up and started growling, eyes glowing. 

"Hi there," said a young man with slightly too-perfect hair. He was wearing a varsity rugby jersey and designer jeans. 

It was _Jackson_.

"I believe my pack needed some help?" he said, and held out his hand to Derek. Derek shook his hand cautiously while Stiles tried to remove his jaw from the floor.  

"I would have been here sooner but my plane was delayed."

"What the hell?" asked Stiles.

"Hey, Stilinski," Jackson said, nodding. "Lydia called me and told me what's been going down. So I figured I'd come up and help where I could. I mean, I'm still part of the pack?"

"I don't believe this,” said Stiles, shaking his head. "But... um... yeah, since Derek is acting as Alpha, and you're technically his beta..." 

"Any help would be welcome," said Derek.

"I brought this," said Jackson, fishing in his rucksack. "I joined A temporary pack in Connecticut. Their Alpha is an old colleague of my Dad... when Lydia called me yesterday I spoke to him and he pulled some strings and ,.. anyway... he said you might need it."

He handed Derek a large leather bound-tome.

"Is this... a _Codex_?"

"Yeah," said Jackson. "Not sure what it's for, they said you'd know. They have a whole collection of them so they agreed to loan one out. It's apparently protected by some spell or something..."

"A _ward_ ," corrected Lorelei.

Jackson looked curiously at her, and shrugged. "Who the hell are you?"

"Lorelei," she replied. "Stiles's cousin. I'm here to... well..."

"Whatever. I've got a contact number for their emissary in Boston... so you can let them unlock it? There’s nothing but blank pages in it apparently until you do that. Anyway, I'm just the messenger." 

"Who is this Alpha?" said Derek.

"Van Buren. Robert van Buren."

Derek raised his eyebrows. "That's a very old werewolf family. One of the first in North America. Lydia... how did you manage to organise all of this in less than a day?"

"I have my ways," she said, fluttering her eyelids. "I thought it important that every member of the pack be present. And Jackson is pack."

Aiden was not looking impressed, and glared at his girlfriend's ex menacingly. Jackson ignored him, and settled himself next to Danny, who hugged his long-lost friend hello. 

"Now we have something," Deaton said when everybody had settled. "Since Lorelei is the most astute worker among us, we should let her unlock the Codexas soon as possible. I imagine the counter-ritual is in there somewhere. But we have to hurry."

"Why would a werewolf Codex have a list of spells like this though?" asked Danny. "It's not like it's directly werewolf related."

"Because werewolves are Guardians," Derek said. "We're supposed to protect humanity. At least, that's how the first werewolves came about."

"He's right," said Chris, who had been quiet throughout the evening.  "They've kept watch over the supernatural for thousands of years, keeping records, documenting events. Even as we Hunters kept them in check.  And, the spells are there for the worker's benefit."

Unlocking the Codex was decidedly prosaic. There were no sparks or clouds of coloured smoke. Lorelei simply intoned an incantation in Latin she was given by the Van Buren pack's emissary and sprinkled some water around the book.  

"And now we have nearly a thousand pages to go through," she said, sighing. "This Codex is in Medieval Latin and Old Church Slavonic. Neither of which are my strong suits." 

"Give it to Stiles," said Lydia. "He seems to be good at languages lately.”

“Okay,” said Stiles, sounding a bit unsure. He took the Codex and laid it out on his lap and started skimming through it.

“It’s all gibberish,” he said, after he had been perusing the ancient book for at least a minute. “There’s all this stuff about pack law and medicines and werewolf history… wait a minute, here’s something… Demonology… okay, there’s just this bunch of runes and this inscription that keeps repeating… _Lupus et homo cooperatur… quidam tuetur dum quondam salvare… Delecta duae… Duo unum fiunt, prius legerit…_ Okay, man and wolf must… work together… some must watch while some must… save? Two become one, before they can… legeri… _read_ … Great. Basically a medieval self-help book with motivational quotes to lighten the mood before the world ends. So let's put on some light jazz people and have a cocktail in time for Armageddon.”

Derek bent over to look at the pages, and put his hand on Stiles’s shoulder.

There was a spark, and the runes on the pages started glowing. The kitchen light started flickering. 

_Not again, surely?!_

Stiles heard a hissing noise behind his skull. Something was talking to him.

_Simul legere. Simul legere. Simul legere._  

“What the hell?” said Derek, whose fangs lengthened. He took a step back and removed his hand from Stiles’s shoulder.

The page returned to normal, and there was silence. 

Stiles was pale. 

“God, that was creepy,” the brunet said. “I mean, creepier than usual. It felt as if something was speaking to me.”

“What was it saying?” asked Lydia.

“Simul legere, or something like that.”

“It sounds like a command,” said Lydia. “Read together.”

“I’m reading it!” said Stiles, frustrated.

“Are you okay?” said Derek, who grabbed Stiles hand and squeezed it.

This time the kitchen light switched off. A small whirl of mist entered the den, and the pages started glowing again.

“What the…” Stiles exclaimed. 

“That’s it!” said Lorelei. “It only works when the two of you are together! Hold him close to you, Derek… Stiles, try and read it now!”

“Holy shit,” cried Allison, and the pack gasped as Stiles’s eyes glazed over while Derek gripped his boyfriend's hand tightly. Green flames sprouted from the book and bathed his face in an unearthly glow. Derek’s eyes glowed blue and his claws lengthened, not letting go. 

Stiles started chanting in a low, unearthly monotone. 

“ _A to je, jak se zabít démona. Veškeré světlo ve vesmíru bude zaměřen na jeden. Cricle přátel se ho obklopují. A to je, jak se zabít démona.”_  

_“_ That’s definitely not Latin,” Lydia csaid as Stiles repeated the phrases over and over again. Stiles's eyes were opaque; singular planes of dead membrane.

“No,” said the Sheriff. “It’s Czech. Or some old form of it.”

Stiles shot out a hand, and intoned a new phrase. “ _Calamum! Da mini calamus!_ ”

“Latin again,” said Lydia. “He’s asking for something. Stiles, what is it?”

“ _Stylus! Stylus! Da mihi!_ ”

“I think he wants… a pen,” said Allison. “Stylus.”

Jackson fumbled for a pen in his rucksack and handed it to Derek, who pressed it into Stiles’s hand. 

Immediately, Stiles started writing furiously on the vellum of the book, while repeated the Czech phrases again. He was scribbling words,figures, numbers, shapes.

“Isn’t that going to ruin the…” asked Danny, but Ethan shot him a look.

Derek was shivering, holding onto his boyfriend as tight as he could.

There was silence as Stiles wrote. Then, just as suddenly as the flames had sprung up, they disappeared. Stiles went limp in Derek’s arms and the pen clattered to the floor. 

“Stiles!” the werewolf hissed. “ _Stiles!_ ”

The pack crowded around the brunet, wide-eyed and worried. Stiles’s eyes fluttered, and then he coughed.

“What… what just happened?” he said, looking around confused.  

“You tell me,” said Deaton, who held up the Codex where Stiles had written out several pages. 

“I think there’s our answer,” said Lydia. “And this time, we can understand it.”

It was in an old Gothic script, but clearly recognisable as English.

 

 

 

 

_DEFENSIVE DEMONOLOGY RITUALS: THE EGRESS OF ST JOHN’S EVE & THE SUMMER SOLSTICE_

 

_...On Subverting Dark Powers and Opposing Rituals: General Principles / Rituale Romanum / Casting Out and Casting Back / Protection Wards / Ephemeris for Alignment of Astrological Omens:_

_The Veil between this world and the next is thinnest around the time of the Summer Solstice…_

 

"It was as if I was taking dictation," said Stiles, poring over what he had written down. 

Lorelei joined him at his side. She scanned through the pages and the colour drained away from her face.

"Cuz?"

"This is... this is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's beyond my powers.You're going to have to cast it."

"But I've never... I mean, I supposedly have this latent talent, and now I've got to jump straight to final year Hogwarts? All I did was irritate a demon when I stole a line from _The Exorcist._ " 

"Stiles... you're going to have to believe in this... or it could become very dangerous."

"Ha!" said the brunet. "I don't even know what I believe any more!"

"He _has_ believed before," said Derek gently. "That time in the club. When you managed to complete the circle of mountain ash. There wasn't enough, I know, but _you_ made the spell work just because you trusted yourself."

Stiles was silent. 

"Well, do we have any better option?" asked the Sheriff.

"I'm with your dad on this, Stiles," said the werewolf, massaging his boyfriend's shoulders. "It seems like I have to be there with you. Which I was going to do anyway, okay? Seems like I'm supposed to be some kind of anchor for you..." 

"...that's why we read it together. I remember saying that. And what was I saying in Czech?" 

"I scribbled down what I could," said Lorelei, handing him a notebook. "Something about forming circles..."

Stiles paged through the notebook and compared it to what he'd wrought in the Codex. "Why can't this  be like Wikipedia with hyperlinks? Okay, we will all have to form a circle around where this is supposed to happen. It's going to be a powerful spell and possibly painful. And we have no guarantee that it's going to work. But it's all we have."

"And what do we do now?"

"We wait," said Stiles, gravely. "There's patterns in here where I think we're supposed to form a ring holding hands around Ground Satanic Zero, when the 'heavens align'. Like they couldn't have used something less clichéd. I guess all this will take place..."

"Just after three a.m.," said Danny, who had been punching figures into his cellphone. "The moon is at perigee then, and Algol rises."

"Whoop-de-non-surprising-do."

"This feels like a trap," said Allison. 

"But do we have any better ideas?" said her father, who had been whispering among the two young hunters he'd brought with. "I can round up several of us, even if it's just to help people feel safer. And the Sheriff could have a task team ready."

Chris looked at John, who nodded.

"And how do I cast spells anyway?" Stiles sighed, settling back into a chair. "It's not like I can just grab a chopstick and turn a latte into an espresso con panna. You're asking me to deal with rips in the space-time continuum so big you could fly the Enterprise through them!" 

"I'll teach you the basics," said Lorelei. "We have the whole day tomorrow. But the essence of casting is to open your mind and trust your instincts. The incantations are just signposts, as it were. For a true worker, they could sing the theme tune from, I don't know, _McGyver_ and it would work." 

"You watch McGyver?" said Stiles, with an excited expression. 

"Hey, I'm an eighties girl and Richard Dean-Anderson is gorgeous."

Derek huffed. "I've decided a good old-fashioned stake-out will be the first order of business. We have the site, and according to the predictions nothings going to happen before midnight. So I'm organising us into groups..."

Derek proposed his plan:

Chris would lead a team of hunters strategically stationed around the perimeter, with the Sheriff and two other officers who were in on the werewolf world watching over them. The ritual called for a ring of at least ten individuals to hold hands around the site of the black mass, evidently two for each point of a pentagram. Lorelei would guide Stiles through the incantations with Derek standing guard.

"That's it?" asked Lydia. "Seems pretty... simple..."

"The most powerful things usually are," she replied.

 

 

* 

 

The rest of the meeting centred around logistics and technicalities. Deaton had assembled a supernatural disaster relief kit under Lorelei's guidance, with tinctures of mountain ash and vervain and tempered wolfsbane among others ready for any werewolf injuries. Chris was in charge of weaponry and  though it was unlikely that crossbows and flamethrowers could do much damage to a supernatural entity, at the very least they could create some sort of a diversion. 

For all the world, it looked like they were planning a Sunday School picnic. Even though this would be a picnic at Hanging Rock.

Stiles was exhausted as he said goodbye to the last members of the pack. All he wanted was to get into bed. 

Jackson patted him on the back on his way out.

"Good to see you, Stilinski," said Jackson rather flatly.

"You too... how have you been?" 

Jackson shrugged. "Okay. I guess. London was good, but I missed home."

"And Yale next I believe?"

"Yeah. Good on you for Stanford, dude. Always knew you'd do well. And looks like you're handling all this weird shit very well."

"Um. Thanks."

This was the longest conversation he'd ever had with the jock that didn't involve several levels of douchebaggery. 

"So anyway, Stiles... I just wanted to say... good on you and Derek. It's been a long time coming. I'm happy for you."

"You _are_?"

Jackson smirked. "I may be a douche, but I'm not a complete asshole, Stiles. You deserve to be happy. I like to see you happy. Get some rest with your boyfriend before this all comes down tomorrow."

Jackson turned and walked out the door, whistling.

As far as Stiles was concerned, the world had already ended, because Jackson fucking Whittemore was telling him how happy he was that he was snogging the former Alpha of Beacon Hills. 

He felt Derek's strong arms draw him into an embrace and he felt his thoughts calm.

"I just want to go to bed now," said Stiles. "I want to stop thinking."

"Sounds like a good idea, son," said the Sheriff, who rubbed his tired eyes and yawned.

"So now we have the how but I still don't understand the why. The original why."

"How do you mean?"

"Why did this... entity... attach itself to us in the first place?"

The Sheriff was quiet for a moment. "There's something I should have given you a while ago. I only remembered yesterday, and I didn't know it would make a difference..."

"What, Dad?"

"Wait here."

The Sheriff walked down the passage to his study, and returned a few moments later with an old sealed envelope.

“It’s From Deda."

"Deda?!" 

"He entrusted this letter to me just before he died. Said I would know when to give it to you. I guess this is as good a time as any." 

Stiles’s hands shook as he took the envelope and stared at the single word written on the front in a flowing cursive hand.

“Is that…” asked Derek.

“It’s Stiles’s name,” said the Sherrif. “ _Vojtěch_. Voy-tek.”

“V-Voj-těch,” Derek repeated carefully.  Derek had never heard the name before, but it sounded beautiful. 

Stiles sat down, staring at the envelope. “I l-last saw him a week before he died… that was four years ago, Dad… what would he want to have said to me? 

“I don’t know, son. But whatever answers there are, they’re in there.” 

“Do you want some time alone?” said Derek, crouching down next to the brunet.

“No, stay here,” Stiles said, and Derek settled next to him and steadied his boyfriend’s hand. 

Stiles tore open the envelope.

 

 

 

*

_ Pasadena, July 2010 _

__Vojtěch_ , my dear grandson,  _

_ If you are reading this little epistle then I am probably gone already. Part of me hopes that you will never have to read it, but I have entrusted your father with it; I told him he would know if the time came to give it to you. _

_ I could never explain to you how broken my heart is that you have lost your mother. She and your aunt were the most precious gifts God gave to me and your Babi. Nothing can ever replace that kind of loss, but I hope that warm, loving memories will one day eclipse your grief. I know something about loss, and while I have no greater sorrows than yours, perhaps it may comfort you to know that I understand what it feels like: I lost my parents when I was sixteen escaping my homeland. _

_ My country (of which you, your aunt and your mother are a living embodiment of its best aspects  has had a tragic past). The Czechs and the Slovaks have never really been free in the past hundred years, it is only now that I write that “Czechoslovakia” is no more and, finally, peace and prosperity is flooding through our people’s lands. I know I will never return as I write here from what is probably my deathbed, but I am happy. Do not mourn for me. I know will be with your mother and your Babi soon, God willing. It is easier for me, having lost my dear daughter so close to my own end on this plane of existence. You still have a whole life. _

_There are things I need to tell you, things both dark and beautiful, that I have kept hidden until now. You are probably old enough to hear about them.  _

_Let me tell you about my childhood.  _

_Growing up in Prague after the war was a strange experience to say the least. It was horrific, hearing about how the Germans had flooded in after 1938 and carted the Jewish families off to the horrors of Therisienstadt and beyond. My parents managed to shield a family until the Soviets came in and “liberated” us. The Germans preserved the old synagogues as museums. One day I hope you can visit the old Jewish Quarter and be reminded of man’s inhumanity to man, and then stand on the Charles Bridge and gaze at the Vltava and be comforted by man’s creativity and love of beauty as you stare in wonder at the Old City.  _

_In the great cathedral of St Vitus that looms above Prague is a chapel dedicated to our namesake, St _Vojtěch_. _Vojtěch_  means “happy warrior”, and I have always thought that you embody these qualities. I have known you as a fearless, fiercely intelligent boy, and I am only sorry that I will not be seeing you become the brave man you will be. I used to seek shelter in the cathedral when the fear became too much, as our family plotted our escape. The police came one night to our house in Mala Strana and took my father and my uncle in for questioning. Someone had spread news that we had Imperialist literature in our house: copies of Huckleberry Finn and To Kill A Mockingbird. Only my father came back; he had been beaten and he was crying. It was the only time I had ever seen him cry. We never saw Uncle Vaclav again. The Communists ruled with fear and loathing, just like the Germans had before. We Czechs and Slovaks only had a brief respite between the wars. The the crackdown started, suspicion cast upon anyone who dared question the status quo.  _

_ We left everything in the house and snuck aboard a train. We managed to get to the village of Dolní Dvořiště near the Austrian border travelling by night; my parents, my brother, two sisters and Babi. The two of us were sixteen and madly in love. We all ran into the forest, hoping to find somewhere to cross the border. At some stage in that breathless rush, I became separated from the rest of the group. I was so frightened. It was then that I came upon a gypsy woman and her small child. She was starving and called out for help. I could have given her the piece of bread I had upon me. But I was selfish and thought only of my own safety, because I could hear the dogs of the soldiers and the police who had somehow caught wind of us. _

_ I ignored her pleas and carried on running, coming to the border fence. It was then that I saw the wolf. I had heard wolves before, howling in the Bohemian forests at night when I was a boy visiting my grandparents' farm in the country. Their sound filled me with fear. That wolf was enormous, and I thought he was going to eat me. He sniffed at me and made as if I should follow him. He came to where there was a hollow in the fence. I think he had dug that hollow, as if he knew where someone could escape. Within moments I was through, the wolf standing guard.  _

_ I knew I had witnessed a miracle. And I felt unworthy. Because I knew I had abandoned someone in need. I was a stupid boy. I heard the shots in the background and knew they had found my family. It was another miracle that I found my brother and sister and Babi on the other side. They had seen my mother and father gunned down in front of them._

_ We found our way to France, and finally we ended up on the boat from Marseilles to New York. I had always admired the Americans, and as we sailed towards a brand new life of opportunity I started, gradually, forgetting the old country. But I would dream of the wolf that had saved me now and then. Something had come into my life; there was a wolf running behind my skull. _

_Your Babi and I were inseparable. When we were nineteen we married, after two years working in upstate New York. I found work as a farmhand in Iowa. Eventually we ended up in California, as far away from Central Europe as we could get, and when I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time I knew I could settle down. We found permanent jobs, had our two daughters and embraced the American Dream. We gave them what we didn't have: a happy childhood, a good education. Your mother was always the adventurer, the inquisitive one. Like you she was brilliant at school. I hoped she would stay in Pasadena with us, but she jumped at the chance to take up a teaching position in Beacon Hills far up north. I was mean to your father at first, but the young deputy had swept her off her feet.  _

_Your parents always wanted a child, but they struggled. Your mother had two miscarriages. She confided in me that she used to have terrible dreams that something was going to take her child. Then I started dreaming, too. And I realised, somehow, that a terrible curse had been unleashed upon my family.  _

_ It is shameful of me to say this, to my grandson whom I love so much, but I didn’t expect you to survive when you were born. I was furious when I discovered that Claudia and Lorelei figured out that a dark entity had followed me from Europe to America. I had always hoped the curse would end with me. I warned them not to make any kind of deal with it, because evil never keeps its word: it always wants more. _

_ Both your mother and her cousin were born with gifts: they run in the _Dvořák_  family. Lorelei was always able to see things sporadically, and connect with the world beyond. Your mother’s gifts were subtler: she could read thoughts, and predict the future, and communicate with animals.  _

_ And she was resolute. She knew from the start that something of herself would be sacrificed. I lived in terror and denial. I refused to see my niece; I blamed her for convincing your mother to go through with the deal. They refused go give me any major details either. But I know now she was simply there to support her. I shut her out of your life, thinking you would be safer. _

_ The point is, _Vojtěch_ , and I know you don’t like to be called by your name, you have a gift. I knew it since you were a little boy and told me you could understand everything the cat was saying to you. You have both your mother’s and Cousin Lorelei’s gifts. And possibly more. This is extremely rare among male children. It might lie dormant for years, it might never appear. But I do know one thing, having spent years reading as much as I can, even as I shy away from telling you directly - you have the power to chase away the evil forever. You have always magnified the good around everyone. How you will do this I do not know. But I do know it starts with believing. Believing in yourself. _

_ You doubt yourself, Stiles. I shall go to my grave with my heart broken, seeing my little grandson wrenched with grief at his mother’s funeral. I hope you will realise one day that none of this was your fault. _

_ She did what any mother would do: she gave herself up for her child. _

_ Recently, I had one dream about you as a young man running with a wolf. This wolf was different to the one I met in the forest. It was large, and powerful, protective of you. You were happy. And there was a great power between the two of you. I am no Dr Freud, even though my second name is Sigmund, nor a soothsayer, but I think that it represents someone you are destined to be with. The wolf is a powerful symbol in the old myths an folktales of Central Europe. The typical depiction of him as a vicious savage is more a representation of man’s own fears. A man who can talk to wolves, or run with them, is a great man indeed; they have been branded saints, sorcerers, noble warriors.  _

_ Whomever you end up with, I know that you will make them happy, and that they will make you happy. I have been lucky, Stiles. I was married to your Babi for 52 years when she died, and I have had a long and mostly happy life. I know you have struggled with faith and belief - it is not my place to tell you what to believe - but I believe she is watching over you in some way, just as I know Babi will fetch me one day in the near future. _

_Tell your father I have come to regard him as my own son, and that he was a loving and good husband to my daughter, even if we differed on many things. But he must know that I know that to you, he is an exceptional father: fair, loving, kind, forgiving. He blames himself for not being there when your mother passed away.  _

_ I am leaving you my music collection (which you no doubt already own by now), but attached to this letter you will find some photographs of my family in Prague in the 1930s and 1940s, as well as a small treasure: a programme from the premiere of the Eighth Symphony of my great-great uncle, the composer Antonin _Dvořák_  himself, signed and dated. May it remind you of your great Czech heritage. And do not forget your Polish heritage either: the Stilinskis are a proud, hard-working family who came to America with nothing and made the American dream work for them. _

_ Lorelei will come back into your life; she told me that even as I abjured her. In the bottom of my heart I knew she was right. When she does come - misguided as she might seem - listen to her. Of all people in our family, she was always closest to your mother. If you listen to her, and trust your instincts, this evil will stop. I have no idea what could happen, but, I do know that love will come through when you least expect it. Hold on to that. _

_ I wish you long life, and happiness, and success in all your endeavours. If you ever come to our homeland, I hope you will visit the forests, and walk around in the old town of Prague and see where your old Deda came from _

_ “Přeji vám všechno nejlepší, abyste byl zdravý a šťastný!” _

_ I love you my boy _

_ your Deda, Vojtěch Sigmund Dvořák  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while... I've been busy with NaNoWriMo, but at least this is something for now! Also I hope you like the return of Jackson :) Thanks again for all the comments, and to Sodium for hauling me over the coals for some plot mistakes I made...
> 
> Here is a lovely performance of the first movement of Dvořák's 8th Symphony which Stiles's Deda references.
> 
> http://youtu.be/W5UbrhqdqQE
> 
> It just seems to fit that Stiles's is distant family of this genius.


	25. La Lune Ne Garde Aucune Rancune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eye of the storm is about to pass. But for the moment, Stiles and Derek manage to hold on to each other. In another time, two mothers share another cup of tea, and ponder their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience for this update... been busy with NaNoWriMo but it's done, got to my 50k words! Now, without further ado...

 

The storm was looming, but it was still calm.

For now. 

Stiles’s head hurt. There was too much to parse: Derek. Kissing. Boyfriends. Armageddon about to strike. Deda’s letter. 

All he knew was, he didn’t want to be alone right now. And the one person who could quieten his thoughts was still fussing about in the bathroom. Stiles was too stupidly shy in the heady new blur of… damn it… _courtship_ … to ask him to stop fucking flossing already and get his werewolf ass over here right now and hold him.

The Moon was almost full, and as Stiles caught sight of it trekking across the view from his window. It looked as if she was an old woman with a scarred face who was once beautiful. Did the Moon sense things? Know things? Did she realise she made the spirit of the wolf come alive, that she reflected the harsh light the Sun and made it soft and gentle?

Did she remember all the ancient nights she had stood guard over, when in a time beyond any human memory she joined the Earth in an eternal slow dance? 

“Beautiful, isn’t it," said Derek, joining Stiles at the window. “I can hear her calling.”

Stiles jumped.

“Jesus!” Stiles gasped. “How do you guys _do_ that?”

“Sorry,” said the werewolf. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Stiles’s breathing calmed down, and he ran a hand through his hair. “ ’S ok. I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping you’d…”

“Of course I was going to be here,” said Derek, smiling shyly. _God in Heaven_ , the man was cute when he did that, thought the brunet. “I was just getting ready for bed.”

“Do you have to brush your fangs too?”

Derek chuckled. “My fangs _are_ my teeth, Stiles,” he said. “And vice versa. It’s hard to explain… but…”

“Sorry. Asking too many questions.”

“You can ask me anything, Stiles.”

“I know, Sourwolf. And I will ask. A lot. It’s not every guy who gets to hang out with a werewolf… never mind have one as a  _boyfriend_.”

Derek made a little snicker, and put his arm around Stiles. “Boyfriend. I really like the sound of that. Never had one before.” 

“Me neither.” 

They both laughed, and stared at each other in the half-light.  

“What does it feel like," said Stiles, "when you shift?" 

"When it first happens it hurts. It's a primal rage you can't make sense of. It's frightening. It’s fuelled by fear, that’s why we’re so dangerous on the first few Full Moons. But then, you learn to stop fighting and give into it, and you realise it wasn't the wolf making you violent, it was your fear."

Stiles was silent for a moment. "I thought you told Scott once you used anger to control the shift."

"It's one way. You can use any emotion to master the gift of the wolf. He thinks of Allison. I wasn't always angry, Stiles. My parents taught us to trust the Universe. But after the fire..."

"I understand," Stiles said, digging his fingers ever so slightly into the powerful muscles of the werewolf’s back. 

"I haven't used anger for a while now," Derek said. "I learnt to use something far more powerful." 

"What?" said Stiles, intrigued.

Derek chuckled softly. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Spit it out, Fangface."

" _You_. I think of you."  

Stiles's jaw went limp. "I... I..." he stammered, "Don't make me choke up now."

Derek brought a hand up to the brunet's face, and stroked his cheek. 

"Don't look so surprised," Derek said. "You've invaded my thoughts since I met you and Scott in the forest. Though I think I saw you once before then."

"You did?"

"You were waiting in the car outside the school. You must have been about nine or ten. Your mom had run off to fetch something I guess she had left inside her classroom. You were wearing a red V-neck jersey and you had this action figure or something. You were leaning out of the window when you dropped it."

"Batman," said Stiles. "Scott gave it to me for Christmas. I was trying to make him fly, although Batman doesn't fly... oh my God, it was _you_. You picked it up and gave it back to me. You had a bike with blue handlebars..."  

"Yes," said Derek, and they stared at each other in amazement. "I remember how big your eyes were. I think somehow I knew, when I saw you again years later." 

The werewolf's eyes were moist.

"What's it, Sourwolf?"

Derek shook his head. "I'm so scared I'm going to lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere, silly."

"You don't understand." 

"I _do_. Don't you think I worry about the same thing? But what does it help worrying if it fucks up the good time one's having now? Tomorrow, all the shit's going to fly into our little corner of existence from God knows how many parallel universes out there. But we have this. We have _now_. And we will remember."  

"I... I sometimes worry that I'm going to forget what the voices of my family sounded like..." the werewolf said. "That my memories will fade. And I've kind of let them, because it hurts so much to think of them..." 

"Derek," said Stiles, making small circles with his thumb on the werewolf’s cheek. "You can't hide from what's happened. It's _supposed_ to hurt sometimes, because they were special... come here."

He pushed his face towards him. Derek hugged him tightly and buried his face against the brunet's neck. 

Then Derek was crying, great waves of sobs tumbling out of him. He whined, he howled, he growled.

Stiles stroked his hair and rocked him to and fro, just like Derek had done to him before.  

"Let it out, let it out," he whispered into his ear. "I'm here. I'm here." 

"I'm scared it will never stop," Derek managed between his spasms, "I miss them _so much_."  

"It gets better," Stiles said gently. "I promise. And I'll be here. You've done the same for me." 

Derek nodded meekly, still shaking slightly.

Stiles took him by the hand. "Come," he said, leading him towards the bed. "Let's just hold onto each other for now, okay? Tonight... let's not think, let's just _be_."

"I'd like that," said the werewolf. 

Derek took off his shirt and lay down on the bed, scooting up so Stiles could join him. He had already changed into sweats, while Stiles changed into a pair of sleep shorts and an old tee. 

"No," said Derek, sniffing. "Take your shirt off." 

Stiles blushed.

"I know you're shy, Stiles. But you're beautiful. I want to feel your skin against mine."

Stiles gave a little smile and he felt his heart racing. 

Stiles took off his shirt and lay down next to Derek. He’d never felt so naked before. Derek put his hand around his neck, and trailed his long fingers down the younger man’s smooth chest, stroking his pectorals, his sternum, his taut belly. 

“You're beautiful,” the werewolf murmured, and his eyes flashed blue for the briefest of moments.

"I bet you say that to all the gangly boys you date."

"Shut  _up_ , Stiles."

The brunet snuggled up next to his boyfriend, absorbing the heat radiating out from him like a sponge.  

“Derek?” he said, turning around and staring at his boyfriend. 

“Yeah?”

“Show me your fangs.”

Derek twitched. “Why?’ 

“Because they’re part of you. And I think they’re awesome.” 

“You sure?” 

Stiles put his hand on Derek’s face. “Show me.”

Derek took a deep breath. He opened his mouth, and slowly bared his brilliant white teeth. He let his canines grow, first the top fangs, then the bottom. 

Stiles stared, enrapt. The brunet traced his thumb around them, shivering as he felt how sharp their tips were. 

“ _Awe. Fucking. Some._ ” 

Derek snorted, and his normal teeth reappeared. “You were never scared?”

“Maybe that one time in the Jeep,” Stiles confessed. “When you threatened to rip my throat out.”

“I’m sorry about that,” said Derek, softly. “I would never have, really.”

“And in your defence, you were dying from a wolfsbane bullet, so I never took it personally.”

“Good to know.”

“Can I see your claws now?”

“ _No._ I want to hold you.”

“God, you’re so demanding,” said the brunet, rolling his eyes.  “and we’ve only been official for like 24 hours.” 

Derek growled softly, and Stiles shivered. It was very sexy, and he didn’t resist when Derek’s powerful arms enfolded him, and he was suddenly enveloped by two hundred pounds of werewolf muscle. 

“ _Mmmm,_ this is nice,” he said, as he felt his face mushed against Derek’s chest, and he inhaled the man’s amazing scent. 

Derek held Stiles gently, trying not to shake. He closed his eyes as his thumb made small circles between the brunet’s shoulder blades. He could smell their scents mingling.

A great calm flooded through his mind. 

They took turns spooning, their breathing settling, their heartbeats following each other in a gentle duet. They both were hard... _very_ hard... but, strangely, neither of them were overwhelmed with the urge to explore _that_ right now. Stiles could feel Derek... all of Derek... pressed against him and it simply felt safe and warm and lovely. And _right_.  

"Is that, um, worrying you?" said Derek, echoing his thoughts.

Stiles couldn't stifle a small giggle. “Not… not really. I like it. It feels nice. New, but nice."

"Same here."

They fell into a deep sleep. 

Outside, lamps hummed and wires hissed. A cat ran across the street and disappeared into a gutter. There was no breeze.

The temperature started falling.  

By dawn, a thin icing of frost had formed on the grass, but nobody noticed, because as soon as the sun rose, it melted, and one would have thought it was just morning dew.

Except for the mist that was still on the hills, it was just another summer day.

  
* 

"So how was the holiday? 

Claudia smiled broadly. "Amazing. I can never thank you enough." 

"I'm so glad it was a success. Tea?"

"Thank you." 

Talia poured Claudia a cup, and the two women chatted amiably, enjoying the unusually warm autumnal morning. The back garden of the Hales was a wild, sprawling affair that melted into the forest; the yellow and red patterns of fall trees blending into the greens and greys.

"How is Stiles?" Talia asked.

"I think he knows I'm getting sick again. And I don't know how much longer I can keep it from him." 

Talia thought for a moment. "I guess one just has to be honest. That sounds like an awful platitude. Claudia... I think we know more about each other than we'd like to admit." 

The human's heart quickened, and she tried to remain calm. 

"You mean," she said in spite of herself. "That I know that you can tell if I lie... that I know what your family are?" 

Talia smiled like the Sphinx. "You have gifts. And we are both mothers. We would both do anything for our children. I don't quite know _what_ it is you've done, but I think I would have done the same."

Claudia grabbed the she-werewolf’s beautifully manicured hand. "I think you're the only person who could understand. And the only person who I can talk to about this." 

"I'm here, any time," said Talia. "If I may ask, how did you figure out about... us?"

"I dream," said Claudia. "I've always dreamt things. My father... he was gifted too. It runs in the family. I just sense things. Especially here, in your family home. The energy is… overwhelming, actually.”

“Overwhelming?” said Talia, raising an eyebrow. 

“In a good way. It is all about family, about love. Even I… I feel protected here… somehow. Safe.” 

Talia smiled. “Anybody who does something good for my family, I regard them as family too. That’s how it is with us.” 

“I always suspected it’s like that,” said Claudia, blushing a little. “Though I’ve never met a… a _werewolf_ in person before. I guess that’s why my heart is beating so quickly, right now.”

“I’m not going to eat you,” said Talia, and both women laughed.

“I know that,” the younger woman said. “My instincts know that.” 

"Do you think Stiles has inherited your gifts as well?" 

"It's hard to tell," said Claudia. "But he's been having dreams as well. On the one hand I hope it would be easier for him... it's a dual-edged sword, if you know what I mean."

"I understand," said Talia. "It's hard for us too. Two of my three children are not werewolves." 

“So it’s not automatically passed on?" said Claudia, intrigued. 

Talia nodded. "They sometimes feel inferior, as if they were denied something. And then I try to explain to them that if it weren't for them, werewolves wouldn't be able to function. That it can be terrifying too, for us."

"Derek is one, isn't he?"  

"Yes. And my most sensitive child." 

"It must have been scary for him, when he found out.” 

"Yes. Thought he was a monster when he first manifested. It happens around puberty for us." 

“Always such a difficult time," said Claudia. "I worry how Stiles will cope, what with me not being there." Her eyes were moist, and she dabbed at them with a Kleenex.  

"He will," said Talia, putting her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Your husband is a good man and will be there." 

Claudia was silent for a moment. "I'm not afraid, you know, of dying. I'm afraid of the pain. And of leaving people behind." 

"But you are loved, Claudia," said Talia. "Perhaps that's cold comfort now, but a life where one loves and is loved... no matter what happens... that is a life that has made a difference. We all have to die. Even my kind. Sometimes it comes a little sooner. I worry about leaving my own children behind all the time. There's no guarantee any of us are going to spend a long time on this planet." 

Stiles's mother took a deep breath. "Thank you for letting me blow off steam. It gets hard, having to pretend. And not being able to discuss the supernatural with people who just can't understand." 

"Same here. It's difficult when you are part of something that taps into our darkest fears." 

"I saw a wolf once," Claudia said dreamily. "In the forest. I was walking in the preserve. I was close to your house. Must have been one of your family, because, I knew well there haven't been wild wolves in this part of California for years. Which is a shame; they're such magnificent creatures." 

"Were you afraid?"

"Not at all," Mrs Stilinski replied. "I felt... _safe_ , actually. Protected. Like it was watching over me.” 

"You're a rare person," said Talia. "It might sound odd, but I think our families were destined, somehow, to know each other. You'd know more about these things than I would.” 

"My father always said there was a wolf in his life. Watching over us. I thought it was a figure of speech... he's Czech, and he speaks in a lot of metaphors... but it might just be more literal than I thought."

Talia grinned broadly. "Your father's a wise man. For my part... call me any time you want to talk."

"Thank you Talia. I need to go soon — I need to pick up Stiles from his piano lesson."

"He plays?" 

"Yes. He's lazy at practicing, but very musical. I grew up with music. My maiden name is Dvorak, after all.”

“Really?” said Talia, entranced. “I know you said you were Czech… any relation to…” 

“Yes, same family.”

“He’s one of my favourite composers,” said Talia. “I played his piano concerto once, when I was still a student and dating my husband… though my favourite composer is Debussy.”

“I love him too! Have a recording of almost everything he wrote. I’ve even got Stiles learning the _Suite Bergamasque_ right now… it’s probably above his level right now but he’s determined because he knows it’s my favourite.”

“Ah, Clair de Lune.”

“Moonlight. And how fitting for werewolves, if I might add.”

“My husband jokes it should be the werewolf anthem.” 

“Seems he and my husband would get along. I would love to hear you play sometime…”

“Maybe I will, sometime. I’ll do the _Suite Bergamasque_ for you.”

“I look forward to that,” said Claudia, getting up. “Thank you for this, Talia, and give Derek my regards. I’m glad he’s doing so much better.”

“I have you to thank,” said the Alpha. “Regards to your family, and hopefully see you soon.” 

Claudia was humming _Clair de Lune_ all the way as she drove to pick up her son.

 

*

Talia didn’t tell Claudia that it was she who had spotted the young woman walking through the forest that morning.  Every now and then, when the kids were safely off at school and things safely settled at home, Talia would change into wolf form and go running. She could just _be_ , one with the forest, at one with the wolf.  

At first she cursed herself that a human had seen her. She could usually smell humans and hide in time for them not to notice a large predator in what was a nature reserve usually populated only by deer and raccoons and squirrels. But this woman walked without fear, as calm and content as a wolf would be. Talia sensed immediately that the human was with child, and that she was the wife of the new Sheriff who had moved into town. A kind man. Talia’s own maternal instincts bubbled over. She ran back into the forest, pretending she had been startled, but followed Claudia until she was safely out of the woods.

She’d follow her on every walk after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title means "The Moon harbours no resentment" and is a line from T.S. Eliot's "Rhapsody on a Windy Night", one of his most enigmatic yet representative poems. 
> 
> Here is a brilliant full performance of the "Suite Bergamasque" by Claude Debussy, "Clair de Lune" is the third movement of this work:
> 
> http://youtu.be/cgyCOE7u8dQ


	26. Thermopylae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles whistled. "Is there a chance I might rip a hole in the space-time continuum in the process and destroy the Universe?"
> 
> "Don't be so melodramatic. But yes, a small chance, if you believe your beloved quantum physics."
> 
> "Hey! Schrödinger was never wrong and quantum is the shit! Here Lies Stiles. He made good but ugly omelettes and destroyed the Universe. But wait... will I get covered with that pink and purple ectoplasm stuff?”
> 
> "Quite possibly," said Lorelei wearily. "I've seen it at some séances."
> 
> "Awesome," said Stiles. “If it happens, could you ward it and let me keep it as a party decoration for Halloween? Scott will be so grossed out. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This kind of just poured out of me under a blazing African summer sky sipping huge amounts of tea. Guess I'll have to write the next creepy bits at midnight! Anyway, mild warning for strong religious imagery. Also lots of fluff interspersed among the angst. Also, Jackson! And Allison!

_They came to the front door of the cottage._

_"Grandma?" cried Little Red._  

_The wolf raised his hackles and gave a low growl._

_"What's wrong, wolf?" she asked._  

_"Not all is well. Let me go in first."_

_The wolf reared up and pressed his front paws against the door. It opened with a creak. It was dark inside, and a single shaft of light shone through the crack in the rafters._  

 _"Grandma?" cried Little Red, sticking her head inside. Her voice echoed through the house. There was no reply. The wolf ran in and turned around, his eyes glowing._  

 _"What big eyes you have, wolf," she said, and shivered._  

 _"All the better to see anything that might hurt you," replied the wolf. He sniffed the air cautiously._  

_"And what a big nose you have," she added._

_"All the better to smell anything that might hurt you," he said calmly._

_Then they heard the sigh coming from across the hallway._

_"Who's there?" asked Little Red, now frightened._  

 _"It's me, Little Red!" said a thin, reedy voice. "In the bedroom!"_  

_The girl ran inside towards the direction of the voice._

_“Be careful, Little Red!” cried the wolf, but she ran past him. He followed her into the room._

_They saw a shadowy figure propped up in a four -poster bed._

_"Hello, my child," said the figure. It had on a large bonnet and its spidery fingers held onto the counterpane it had tucked over its body._

_"Grandma! You don't look well."_  

 _"I've been so ill," said the old woman._  

_The wolf stepped in front of Little Red, whining as he pawed cautiously at the foot of the bed._

_"And what a magnificent creature have you brought here?" the figure continued._

_"A wolf," she said._

_"Are you not afraid? Wolves eat little girls like you."_  

 _"You're wrong, Grandma. He's kind and gentle."_  

 _"Come here, child, and let me see your face."_  

_All of a sudden, the wolf growled again, and bared his huge fangs._

_"Wolf!" cried Little Red, confused. "What big teeth you have!"_  

_"All the better to protect you with!" hissed the wolf, and sprang snarling onto the bed, teeth snapping at the figure’s throat._

 

 

 

*

They all felt rather stupid, holding hands in the centre lacrosse field while Lorelei whispered incantations. The summer sun was high, and though they ached for root beer (or the real stuff) the witch errant made them drink vervain tea she had concocted herself. 

“It tastes gross!” said Jackson, spitting out a mouthful after he took a sip.

“It’s good for you,” said Stiles’s cousin. “An especially protective herb for werewolves. And good for lots of things like asthma and gout and gall bladder problems.”

“I’m a triathlete. I _do not_ have gall bladder problems.”

“Shut up and drink what she gave you,” growled Derek. Jackson pouted and downed the rest of the tea in a gulp. 

Stiles smiled. He knew the jock wouldn’t disobey his Alpha, even if he was technically now a Beta. 

“Try again, Stiles,” said Lorelei, giving him a new piece of paper. 

It was a simple ward. Illuminate the runes that had been scratched on them in secret. 

Stiles concentrated. He concentrated so much he swore he felt blood coursing and pulsing through the veins in his skull. He heard his heartbeat thump in his ear the way it did when he had earaches as a child and he was delirious with fever. 

A small black spot formed on one edge of the paper. Lydia, who had been watching him intently, took a sharp little breath. 

 _Yes, yes, yes._  

There was a hiss, and a spark, and then the paper burst into flames. 

“Fuck!” said Stiles, and grabbed his lacrosse stick (he had innocently thought they were going to meet for an actual game when Lorelei asked the pack to report there in the morning). He beat the flaming paper into submission. He cursed as a small cloud of smoking ash danced around in front of him. 

“It’s not going to work!” he cried, stamping out the last bits of the fire. 

“You’re concentrating too hard,” said Lorelei simply. “You’ve just got to be at one with yourself let it happen.” 

“I’m sick of this airy-fairy self-help bullshit. How am I supposed to ‘let it happen’?” 

“Stiles,” said Derek gently, and put his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Remember when you were at the club. With the mountain ash.”

“That was probably because I was shit scared and had no other option.” 

“Shit scared?” said Jackson, who promptly pounced in front of Stiles and wolfed out, roaring in his face. 

There was a hiss of electricity around both men. 

“ _Fuck off, stupid puppy!_ ” Stiles screamed. With one hand, he pushed Jackson away with such strength that the werewolf toppled over and yelped with surprise.

“What the fuck?” both Stiles and Jackson panted in unison. 

“I don’t know,” said Derek, who retracted his fangs that had popped out when he saw his boyfriend being attacked. “But a human wouldn’t normally be able to push back a charging werewolf.”

“Try it again,” said Lorelei. “Jackson, stand up and resist Stiles pushing you back.”

Jackson snorted, but got up and stood arms akimbo, looking irritated. 

Stiles charged with full speed and launched himself at the jock. 

It was like hitting a wall. 

“ _Fucking hell!_ ” he yelled, rubbing his head and right flank that had borne the most of the hit. Jackson burst out laughing. “That hurt!”

The brunet crumpled onto the ground. 

Lydia rolled her eyes from where she had been sitting cross-legged.

“I think I know what’s going on,” she said, pausing to check her hair in a vanity mirror. “Derek, come here.” 

Derek furrowed his brow and walked over to the strawberry blonde. She whispered into the werewolf’s ear and Derek smiled. 

Derek walked back to Stiles and gave him a hand up. “Ow, that’s going to bruise,” he said, looking at the red blotch on Stiles’s temple. “Here, let me.”

Before Stiles could protest, Derek had leached away the pain and his face returned to normal.

“Should be okay now. If I catch a small injury immediately it doesn’t have time to do any damage.” 

“If only I had you around in chemistry pracs,” the brunet sighed. 

“Tackle Jackson again,” said Derek.

“What? No! I’m not having any bones broken!”

“Stiles…”

“ _What?!”_

Derek grabbed his boyfriend and kissed him. Furiously. His tongue jostled and found the younger man’s, who shook with the sudden act of passion. Then Derek broke free and turned Stiles towards the other werewolf, who was still standing with his arms folded and a slightly disgusted expression on his face.

“Go get ‘em,” Derek said softly, and pushed Stiles slightly forward. 

It was poetry of sorts. Stiles leaped, Stiles pounced. He scooped Jackson up in his arms and flung the cursing, howling werewolf twenty feet across the field.

Allison leapt up and started applauding. 

“What. Was. That?” asked the Sheriff, holding his arms up in disbelief. 

Lorelei smiled, and a wave of realisation hit her across the face. “It’s not just that Derek's anchoring Stiles... it's the Bond,” she said. “Oh my God, it’s a Bond! I never thought I’d see one… I mean, I know these two are a wonderful match, but this… that the alignment of celestial intent between a lycanthrope and a human-born worker to transcend quantum boundaries is…”

“Lorelei, English please!” said John. 

Lorelei got up from where she had been sitting in the lotus position and dusted off her increasingly tragic looking skirt. 

“Sorry. It’s something I’ve only read of. So, you know it’s said that werewolves are best in balance when they’re around humans?” 

“Yeah, so?” said Stiles, who was looking amused at Jackson walking back to their circle, cursing and staring in horror at his filthy Polo shirt. 

“Sometimes, a werewolf completely balances a human. Specifically, a human’s magical powers. And the human in turn makes the werewolf as powerful as they can be without the power corrupting them. You two don't just ground each other... you're like two sides of the same coin, to use that horrible cliché. When Derek kissed you, or earlier, when he got angry when Jackson pounced you, an energy loop occurred. And your power flowed out. You _natural_ power.” 

“Okay... before I try and digest that we're not just boyfriends but some kind of fanfic One True Paring... God, can't we just kiss behind the bleachers before we go all Shakespeare... did you say natural power?”

“What do you think happened when you chased the demon away the other day? The flash of light?” 

It was a little bit too much for Stiles, who shook his head. Derek was staring wide-eyed at Lorelei, trying to parse what he'd just heard.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t holding Derek’s hand or anything.”

“What were you thinking?” 

“I was angry. I wanted this thing to be gone. I wanted to protect the pack… somehow…” 

“Protect anybody in particular?” 

“Well… I guess.. oh my _God_!”

“See, again, you were thinking about Derek.” 

“So cute,” Allison piped up. 

“Still doesn’t fit,” said Stiles. “The time at the club. You said it was because I believed in myself. Which I guess I did.” 

“Go to your thoughts, again,” said Alan. “Remember, I said you had to believe.” 

“Well, I was fucking scared, for one thing. And then I got pissed off. Pissed off with Scott and Derek for getting me into this situation at first. Especially pissed off with Derek because he kept excluding me and… _oh_ …” 

“It works whether you’re pissed off or irritated or in love,” said Lorelei. “Even if you don’t know you’re meant to be together. As long as you have each other in your thoughts, it works.” 

“That’s adorable,” said Lydia, while Aiden snorted where he was sitting next to her. “Star crossed lovers.” 

“Very very cute. I don’t know whether to dab my eyes or vomit in my mouth,” said Jackson. 

“Definitely vomit in my mouth,” said Aiden. “Stilinski’s such a sappy little human.”

“Hey,” snapped Jackson, “cut the guy a break. Only one person gets to poke fun at Stilinski and that’s _me_. And he’s my packmate.”  

“Why Jackson,” said Stiles, genuinely touched. “I didn’t know you cared! If I didn’t know you any better I’d say this would be an invitation to make out. Though Derek’s very jealous…” 

“That’s just gross,” Aiden cried. Lydia looked at her boyfriend, slightly shocked. 

“You think Stiles and Derek being in a relationship is gross?” said Jackson, suddenly animated. “That’s not cool, bro. I mean I don’t bat for the other team but hell, why shouldn’t they be together? They’ve been pining for each other since forever and now they’ve FINALLY kissed and we can all get on with our lives already! _And_ your brother’s gay. _And_ his boyfriend’s my best friend so don’t fuck with me.” 

“Like you’d know about relationships,” Aiden said with an ugly frown. “Dumping Lydia and fucking off to Daddy’s little apartment in London.” 

“Boys…” said Lydia, and gently eased away from the rising torrent of testosterone.  

“I did what I had to do,” said Jackson, taken aback. “After the… the…”

“Oh yeah, I know all about the Kanima. Maybe you should shut up, you murdering little lizard."

Jackson wolfed out and threw himself at Aiden, who wolfed out in turn. Both werewolves hissed and snarled at each other, Jackson’s eyes amber, Aiden’s bright blue. 

“You’re a beta too, big boy,” Jackson growled. “You gave up your alpha powers.”

“Yeah, but I was born a werewolf and never forgotten it. You were gagging for the bite, _begging_ for it,  before Derek gave it to you out of _pity_ …” 

“ENOUGH!” 

Derek stretched out his arms and grabbed each werewolf by his puppy scruff, hoisting both into the air so their legs dangled helplessly above the ground.

His eyes shone deep blue and, for a moment, they were almost violet: it was striking, Stiles had never seen them this colour before. 

Jackson and Aiden shifted back to human form with the shock, and Derek dumped them on the ground in two sorry piles of disheveled man-boys.  

“I _will not_ tolerate any dissension in this pack!” he hissed. “Right now we have to stick together. And if anybody has a problem with me and Stiles, I have told you already that you can speak to us personally.” 

The pack was dead silent. Ethan was squirming with embarrassment on behalf of his brother, hiding behind Danny’s shoulder, who was gently squeezing his boyfriend’s hand. 

Derek shook his head in frustration and gave Aiden a withering gaze. “May I make it _crystal clear_ that the only reason you are in this pack was because of Scott’s intervention on your behalf that the Supreme Council not prosecute you for what you got up to when you were part of the Alpha pack.”  

“Yes,” Aiden grumbled, eyes downcast.  

 “The Kanima episode has been dealt with and is a closed subject as far as I’m concerned. He was not in control of his faculties when it happened. He has to live every day with the knowledge of what happened. Now could we all… _please_ … work together?” 

Awkwardness reigned for a few moments. Then Deaton cleared his throat. 

“I think, perhaps, we have a brief recess… and Stiles can practice some more wards?” 

“Excellent idea, Alan,” said Derek, frowning. “And then to the clearing after lunch to set up things. In fact, Aiden, why don’t you go back to Scott’s house and help Melissa with all the food she’s bringing over later. She could use a hand, and maybe you need a bit of a break from everyone.” 

“Fine,” said Aiden, huffing, who got up and walked off to his car. 

Lydia threw up her hands in consternation as her boyfriend left. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know why he’s so grumpy today,” she said, “he was a perfect gentleman last night… well, at least, during dinner…” 

“Stop right there,” said Ethan. “He may be my brother but I don’t need to know… that…” 

Danny chuckled and gave his boyfriend a peck on the cheek. “You’re so cute when you get offended. Why do you look so worried, though?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan replied, frowning. “He’s been in a bad mood ever since Scott disappeared. Even snapped at me this morning when I asked him what the time was. Told me to get my own fucking watch. He’s hardly ever like that… with me…” 

“Sorry babe,” said Danny, squeezing the werewolf’s shoulder. “I guess we’re all taking a strain. We’re tired, and stressed, and right now I’m hungry too…” 

“Well, at least have something to eat then,” said Derek. “I don’t want my pack going hungry. You brought something for brunch, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Danny, and he sounded half-serious when he said _sir._

Stiles surveyed the scene blew out his cheeks.  

Derek was looking imperious; commanding. He liked that look very much. 

While the rest of the pack munched sandwiches and drank soda that Danny and Ethan had brought, Derek sat next to Stiles while he practiced a few more wards. Things went smoother this time. There were a few hiccups, of course. The victims included a liquified roll of Lydia’s Chanel lipstick (aftertrying to picture “colours flowing together” when Lorelei did a guided meditation with him) and Derek’s can of beer that exploded in his face (same meditation, involving the mantra “release the inner pressure”). After an hour, he was uncovering hidden runes with ease and even managed to levitate one of Lorelei’s pendants for a few seconds.

Then it was back to combat practice, Ethan volunteering bravely to be crash test wolf after Jackson had had taken enough abuse. Danny was magnanimous too, dressing up in full lacrosse gear and allowing Stiles to fling him into the bushes, just to make sure his new Hong Kong Phooey schtick wasn’t just reserved for werewolves.  

Derek surveyed the scene, looking pleased. 

“Seems to be coming together,” said Lorelei. 

“I hope so.” 

“Well, better get to where it’s at, then. They’ve run around enough.” 

Derek nodded. 

He whistled, and everybody turned around. 

“All right! Take a load off, then we meet at the clearing at four!

 

 

 

* 

The hunters assembled first. There were twelve of them, clad in military fatigues and armed with rifles and machine guns and even a few grenades. Chris Argent couldn't help a proud grin as he inspected his finest. He had trained these men with blood and sweat and fatherly devotion: some of them had seen duty in Afghanistan and Iraq. They included ex-navy Seals and Marines and one former senior gendarme from the French police who was a distant cousin of the Argents.  

Chris spread them out around the clearing, some hiding in the trees, others crouched down in the undergrowth. Allison sat perched on a rock, cleaning her arrows and testing her crossbow on helpless pine trees. They had arrived just before three in the afternoon, despite Stiles mentioning that nothing was going to go down before at least midnight." 

"My men have waited out _days_ in the jungle and the Arctic before," Chris snorted. "You busy yourself with what you do best." 

"Okay, Chuck Norris," said Stiles, but not unpleasantly. The brunet had to admit, it was pretty cool having a badass army in your corner. "I see you've gone all Shaka Zulu in your plans," he added, glancing at the scribbles Chris had made in his notebook. 

"You know the buffalo-chest-and-horns formation?" said Chris.  

"Yup," said Stiles. "Drive the enemy out in front and then attack from the sides. I read a lot... have this awesome book on the Anglo-Zulu war... and one on the Boer War... did you know the British invented concentration camps and that the Germans simply copied them? And that the Brits have never apologised?"

"Stiles..." said Derek with a heavy sigh, grabbing his boyfriend by the shoulder. "Concentrate." 

Chris smiled at the two. 

"Sorry," said the brunet. "Looming apocalypses tend to make me talkative." 

Chris nodded, and fiddled with a chain around his neck from which dangled a silver medallion. 

"What is that, if I may ask?" asked Stiles. 

"Oh," said Chris, "it's a family heirloom. Given to me by my grandfather. I put it on today... I don't know, for good luck or something. Supposed to give the wearer protection." 

"May I see?" said Stiles.

"Sure," he said. Stiles thumbed the medallion. It had an engraving of a two-headed figure, and an inscription around the edges:

 

_Pour chaque sortie, il ya une autre entrée_

 

"For each way out, there is another way in," Chris said.  

"Nice. Is that Janus?" 

"Yes, The two-faced god. Supposed to reflect on the past while looking towards the future, or something like that." 

"My dad's a big softie," said Allison. "Ever since the Truce between this pack and the Hunters, he's said that the past that Janus looks back on is our former enmity with the werewolves, whereas the future is the peace we’ve forged." 

Chris rolled his eyes, but looked at his daughter with fondness. "What can I say," he said, "when I have a werewolf as a potential son-in-law... now don't give me that surprised look Allison, I know how hung up the two of you are on each other..." 

" _If_ we can get McCall back," said Jackson, who had been sitting quietly underneath a tree facebooking on his iPhone. 

"Don't be such a party pooper, Whittemore," said Stiles. "We _are_ going to get him back. And Isaac. And Cora. And kick some demon ass."

"You still look ridiculous in that red hoodie." 

"Hey, if you guys get to be all Big Bad Wolves in military chic I might as well be Little Red with an Attitude. And Derek says I look sexy in it." 

Derek blushed. "Stop your pigtail pulling, girls," he managed. "Let's get back to business.” 

“Where is Aiden though?” asked Jackson.

Lydia gave him an awkward look. “Um, he said he was tired. So he went to go rest a bit.” 

“ _You_ don’t look tired, though.” 

“No,” she said to her ex. She looked at the deep blue irises of the jock, and had to work very hard to pull her gaze off him. After all this time, he was still so drop-dead gorgeous. And, somehow, seeing him stand up for Stiles… that had confused the hell out of her. 

The Hunters and Derek had sussed out the clearing well enough, and Lorelei had placed wards around the perimeter (as well as practically forcing a second dose of vervain tea down everybody's throats. Lydia opted to take hers with a shot of vodka – from a silver hipflask encrusted with amethysts.)

Deaton ran through the order of events with Stiles and Derek. The werewolf was looking particularly badass. He had opted to borrow a pair of camo fatigues from the hunters and compliment this with a white wifebeater that did insane things to his muscles. It was all Stiles could do not to lick the werewolf from head to toe… including kissing his black combat boots with lust. 

"So," said the vet. "We'll place Stiles in the middle of the clearing and everybody minus the hunters in a circle holding hands, ready just before 3 am."

"Please don't tell me we have to sing kum-bay-ya and read bad poetry," said Stiles.

"No," said Lorelei. "Your incantation." 

"Are you sure this will work?"

"The egress will happen whether we like it or not. We can't stop it. But an anchor... something special from your mother... will help subdue it, to gain enough time to enter." 

"So. I'm going to be all like the JoBeth Williams in Poltergeist minus the bad hair and enter another dimension through the portal when whatever monster comes out? While Derek keeps me bound with this silly mountain ash rope you and Deaton have fashioned, and then I find Isaac and Cora and Scott and bring them back?" 

"That's the theory," said his cousin. 

Stiles whistled and his eyes became saucers. "Is there a chance I might rip a hole in the space-time continuum in the process and destroy the Universe?" 

"Don't be so melodramatic. But yes, a small chance, if you believe your beloved quantum physics." 

"Hey! Schrödinger was never wrong and quantum is the shit! Think of it… _Here Lies Stiles. He made good but ugly omelettes and destroyed the Universe while wearing Converses._ But wait... will I get covered with that pink and purple ectoplasm stuff like in the movie?”

"Quite possibly," said Lorelei wearily. "I've seen it at some séances."

" _Awesome_ ," said Stiles. “If it happens, could you ward it and let me keep it as a party decoration for Halloween? Scott will be _so_ grossed out."

_"Stiles!_ " yelled the Sheriff, who had just arrived with Deputy Jones and Melissa, armed with trays of pasta bake and bottles of root beer for the motley crew of apocalyptic avengers. 

Stiles shrugged. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Because I'm sitting here on top of the mouth of Hades. Do you know the Greeks called it Thermopylae? The Hot Gates? That's an actual _place_. Like Armageddon is Megido in the Middle East. Who would have thunk that Beacon Hills is evidently Satan's little forest cabin...”

_Damn it, Dad, if I don't stop jabbering I might just burst into tears._

"Deep breath, cuz," said Lorelei, leading him to the centre of the clearing. "Just try reading it. The Canticle was one of your mother's favourites." 

Stiles took out the small Missal which had sat amongst Claudia's personal things in the box in the cupboard. Inside was a small card with a picture of the statue of St Francis in front of the cathedral of Assisi , his arms outstretched. Stiles had read that birds had made nests on top of his hands, a fitting tribute to the patron saint of animals. 

He took a deep breath and read out the prayer.

 

_Most High, all-powerful, all-good... To you alone, Most High, do they belong..._

_Praised be You... with all Your creatures,_

_especially Sir Brother Sun... through Sister Moon and the stars,_

_In the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair._

_Praised be You... through our Sister,_

_Mother Earth_

_who sustains and governs us..._

 

Stiles stopped.

"I can't..." he said in a soft voice.  

Derek sensed his sadness immediately, and walked up to his boyfriend and knelt down beside him.

"She had this in her hand the day she died," Stiles said, and tried hard to stifle the tears well up in his eyes. "And it didn't help." 

"It gave her comfort," the werewolf replied. "It was special to her." 

"Something special indeed. In which I don't really believe." 

"It's okay," Derek said. "The fact is it moves you." 

"Of course it does!" Stiles snapped. "It's beautiful _poetry,_ whether in the original Latin or in translation. Do you think I'm a Philistine? I'm not denying any more that there's something out there... I mean, fuck, demons, spewing Latin, spells... _werewolves,_ duh.... just... _where then is the fucking Good to stop it all?_ " 

"Stiles..." said Derek, and hugged him tight. "That's what we're here to find out. And it's okay if you think it's just poetry. What was your mother's favourite colour?"

"What?" 

"Answer the question."

"Um. Aquamarine. Like the colour of a tropical ocean."

"Okay. And yours?" 

"Dark red." 

"Okay. Do you hate aquamarine?"

"No. What is this?" 

"So you don't hate something that your mother liked. Yet it reminds you of her in some way. You have an aquamarine T-shirt from Thailand that’s way too small for even you, and you wear it sometimes.“ 

Stiles had to concede.  

"Stop fucking with my mind, Sourwolf."

Derek grinned. 

"He's a wise young werewolf," said Lorelei. "Now take a deep breath and try it again. Let the words calm you." 

This time, Stiles read the words slowly and carefully. He found himself zoning out. He got to the last section.

 

... _No second death can do them harm..._  

"Well done," said Lorelei, as he finished. Derek nodded approvingly.  

"How do you feel?" 

"Good," said Stiles, closing his eyes. "Calm. It was nice that you... you held me." 

Derek realised that he'd had his arm around Stiles the whole time. 

"If you can just do that, Stiles..." said Lorelei,  I think we have a running start on all this."

In the background, everyone sprawled about chattered amongst themselves, clearly exhausted from the day's training.  

"Can we eat now?" asked Jackson from where he was sitting. "I'm tired and... sore... Jesus, Stiles, what have you been doing to me? I have _bruises_."

“Stop grousing,” said Derek. “You love the attention. But yes. Let’s have a well-deserved late lunch now, and one final run through.” 

“Fantastic,” said the beta, grinning, pausing to take a selfie of himself in military gear. _Such a poser_ , groaned Stiles… _and yet, I kinda like having the bastard around_.   

 

 

*

 

“This is amazing,” said Derek to Melissa as he munched merrily through his lunch. They happened to be sitting next to each other underneath one of the tall pines at the edge of the clearing. “And you made salad. Even wolves need greens.”

“Thank you, though I’m certain it’s not as good as your lasagne, I bet,” Mrs McCall said shyly.  “John has been rhapsodic about your talents. Maybe you could give Scott a few lessons… when he’s… when he’s…” 

Derek grabbed her wrist. “I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to save him.”

“I know you will,” she said, nodding gently.

The werewolf blew out his cheeks. "I know he's your son, but I regard him as one of my own. Even though I'm nowhere near the Alpha he is."

"You're a good man, Derek, don't forget that."

Melissa brought her hand up to Derek's face. He shivered. With her dark hair and angelic eyes, she looked like his mother.

"I... I..."

"It's okay, I know you're scared," she said, and hugged him.

"I'm going to cry," he whispered in her ear as he yielded into her embrace. "I need to be strong... for the pack..."

"But your pack is here, to make you strong. You're not alone."

Derek sniffed, and nodded. "I know... I'm just... I'm not used to people..."

"Caring?" Melissa replied, staring at him intently. "Well, that's too bad. Because your days of being a lone wolf are over." She pointed lazily at where Stiles sat opposite them talking animatedly to Jackson. "Especially if you have let Stiles into your life. He came home with Scott on their second day of kindergarten and he hasn't really left my house since."

Derek smiled. "I have no choice, I guess."

 

 

*

After one final run-through of positions and wards and placings, Derek called the entire group together.

“So. We rest now.  Everyone back here at midnight, except for Danny and Deputy Jones who will monitor from the station, as agreed." 

"I just hope Lorelei's amnesia ward will help if all the officers walk in on _The Conjuring Part II_ ," said Stiles.  

"Well, I _did_ convince a conference full of direct marketing salespeople once that Mars was the next big market. But that's because I was pissed off about them trying to sell me overpriced vitamins and dishwashing liquid as part of some inane pyramid scheme." 

"Like you convinced people that they'd made contact with Great-Uncle Oswald at your phoney séances," said the Sheriff wryly. "At $300 a pop."

Lorelei's smile disappeared. "That's in the past, John," she said. 

He rolled his eyes. "Really? Last time I heard you were still doing the carnival gig."

“Enough!" snapped Derek, and the whole group went silent. "Everybody disperse now."

Melissa and the Sheriff exchanged glances.  

_The boy's getting it,_ they seemed to intuit. _He's commanding the pack, and they're listening._

Stiles and Derek walked back to the Jeep, holding hands.

"Wait," said Allison.

They turned around and saw the huntress running up to them. She had a fierce look on her face and her dark hair whipped impressively in the breeze.

"Alli?" said Stiles.

"I just want to give you both a hug," she said, and embraced each man in turn. Both men were taken aback.

"I've never said thank you... to either one of you. For all you've done. For being there for Scott. Derek... I know I didn't trust you at first, and I've been a bit avoidant since you came back... but you're a good Alpha and you're doing a great job."

Derek looked away awkwardly. "I'm really just filling in."

"You sound like one. And look like one. And Stiles..." 

"Yeah?" the brunet said shyly. She'd never been his type, but he understood why this fearless, intelligent, beautiful young woman was Scott's everything. 

"Scott's lucky to have you as his friend. Well, brother really. I'll _never_ begrudge you two the bond you have."

"Aw, you're going to make me tear up, and I'm about to become dehydrated from all the snivelling I've been doing lately." 

"I won't lie, guys. I'm shit scared. But if I can just give you one bit of advice, something I've learned..."

"And that is..." asked Derek.

"Hold on to each other. I understand why wolves are stronger in packs." 

"Wolves _and_ humans," the werewolf corrected.

"Precisely. Scott taught me that. You two have something special. I always knew that."

" _Another_ person who knew it before we did," sighed Stiles, rolling his eyes dramatically.

"And I know you'd want a milkshake now," Allison added with a smirk. "You always do when you feel awkward. So, um, Derek... maybe this is your cue to..." 

"Take me on my first official date?" said Stiles, suddenly animated. "For a milkshake?" 

"For real?" asked Derek, raising an eyebrow. 

"Awesome. Let's go! See you later, Katniss!"

Stiles grabbed Derek's arm and tugged him towards the Jeep, while Allison shrugged and giggled. 

“A pre-apocalyptic milkshake,” Stiles said, bouncing up and down in the passenger seat. “See, I’m letting you drive, I’m so excited! Maybe you can order vanilla and I can turn it into strawberry!”

“You’re not Jesus at the wedding in Cana,” said Derek wearily as they drove to the diner. “And with your luck you’ll turn it into ammonia or bleach or something.” 

“Vinegar,” Stiles shot back. “Perfect for a Sourwolf.”

“Touché. Though if this is our first date, we totally need to make out in the car, too,” said Derek, grinning. 

“Oh my God! That is a _perfect_ idea. Stop the car _right now_.”  

“Nope,” said Derek, turning on the main road. “Milkshake for my boyfriend first. Not kissing a jittery hypoglycaemic youth who already talks too much.”

“Grinch,” said Stiles. “You’re the kissing grinch.”

Derek snorted, but then his face went gentle. “Stiles?”

“Yeah Big Bad?”

“Thanks. For being so awesome with the pack. Don’t think I could do this without you.” 

“I don’t care what it is about beta or alpha dynamics, but, as far as I’m concerned you are firstly, my boyfriend, secondly, my friend, and last, but not least, my Alpha. Screw whatever power hierarchy got reassembled when you saved your sister’s life. In my books that makes you _more_ of an Alpha.”  

Derek was so floored he nearly drove off the road into the shoulder.  

“You’re.. you’re…” the werewolf stammered.

“Awesome, maybe?”  

“Yeah,” said Derek. “More than you think.”

As they sat in the diner, summer was about to hit its peak. And although one couldn’t see it, far, far out, Algol had just appeared on the horizon, the eclipsing binary spelling out its technicolor message of doom in celestial Morse code.

A rough beast was slouching towards Beacon Hills to be born. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Canticle of the Creatures" was written by St Francis of Assisi in 1224. I deemed it necessary to place a focal point of good to balance the shitstorm of All Evil that I'll hopefully be able to represent in the next chapter... I'm hoping to give y'all an EPIC showdown. So we're almost done... only a few chapters left but I warn you there will be blood. And cliffhangers. And disturbing crap. I really need to eat less cheese before I go to bed... feel free to email or comment if you find some of the references being too over the top, or going over your head, or annoying. I'm going slightly nuts connecting the dots and dropping in some of my favourite bits of trivia... can't help it, it's like CRACK! And Stiles should be full of random facts!!!!


	27. Unto Thee All Flesh Shall Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wait,” Claudia replied, clearing her throat. “I have to tell you something… I had a dream last night. About your family.” 
> 
> "What?" Talia asked. 
> 
> "It's very vague. There was a fire. In the forest, where your house is. Or was the house itself on fire? It’s…vague, what with all the painkillers they’ve got me on. I don't know what it means. I tried to send out something, something to protect your family..." 
> 
> Talia was silent for a moment. "It might just be a symbol. And you shouldn't exhaust yourself. I know when you do the work that you do, it saps your strength."
> 
> "I did manage something... I got to Derek, and Cora. I didn't have control over where it landed, I was tired... I can try again..." 
> 
> "No, Claudia. It's not your fight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for (minor, or should I say moderate actually) canonical character death and loads of feels.

"Hello Stiles," said Talia as she entered the room.  

The boy looked up from where he had been sitting at the edge of the beside with his head tucked next to his mother's arm. 

"Hello?" he said cautiously. "Mrs Hale?" 

"Yes," the woman said. "Do you mind if I sit with you here for a while? I know she's sleeping." 

"S-sure," he said, yawning. It was early evening, and he was already tired. Lately, every day had been the same, ever since his mother had been admitted back into hospital. The awful angst, while he sat at school, counting down the minutes till the end of classes so he could hightail it to Beacon Hills Memorial to be at her side once again, staying as late as possible until the Sheriff or his deputy had to take him back home to sleep.   

The dreams had been horrible lately, but he didn't tell anyone. Even so, Dr Blake had insisted on seeing Stiles privately, and had prescribed a light sedative, supervised by his father, in case he couldn't sleep.  

Stiles had refused to take it. 

Talia pulled out the chair at the other side of the bed and settled herself.  

"You look tired, Stiles," she said in a gentle voice. Stiles had never actually spoken to her before beyond hellos and goodbyes, but he knew his mother sometimes visited her and that her family lived in a big house in the woods next to the Preserve. 

Stiles yawned and shrugged. "A little," he confessed. 

"Your mother has told me so much about you. It's nice to sit down and talk to you." 

The boy nodded and gave a shy smile. "You organised our holiday, didn't you? I know you work sometimes at the travel agency." 

"That's correct, and your mom told me that the three of you had a wonderful time."

"It was awesome," he said, his voice brightening a little.  

Claudia stirred in her sleep and gave a soft moan.

"Mommy?" said Stiles, grabbing his mother's hand. 

His mother opened her eyes and slowly sat up, rubbing her face. She had rapidly become skeletal in the past month, but her eyes still shone bright, and her skin had taken on a pearlescent glow that stood out in defiance against the wrinkles on her face and her bald head. 

"Hello dear," she said in a reedy voice, and then noticed the other woman. "Oh... Talia... so nice of you to come." 

"My pleasure. I'm only sorry I couldn't come earlier... things have been... a bit busy." 

Claudia managed a smile, even as her breathing was fast and shallow. 

"Stilesey, could you go get me some ice? And get yourself a soda... there's coins in the drawer." 

"Mommy, I don't want to leave," he pleaded.

"I need a moment with Mrs Hale," his mother said gently.  

Stiles nodded, and took the coins and walked out.

"He's been with you the whole time, hasn't he," Talia said. 

Claudia coughed. "Yes. I think he knows. The doctors have said it isn't long now. I was pretending to sleep when they told my husband. It broke him, but I can't stand seeing him wait... and getting his hopes up... _oh dear_..."  

A spasm of coughing shook her, and a little bid of blood appeared in the corner of her mouth. Talia reached for a tissue and wiped her face. 

"Thank you... sorry about that... the tumour's spread to my lungs, so I cough up blood now and then. I sometimes feel like I'm Violetta in _La Traviata_ and dying of consumption in 19th century Paris. If only I had a view of the Seine or something to complete the picture.”  

She managed a little laugh, and Talia smiled. "Good to see you still have your sense of humour." 

"One has to have," Claudia replied. "I joke that there's no way the Grim Reaper's going to ferry me across the Styx without me wearing the stiletto heels I haven't worn since I was dating John in college." 

"Bless you," said Talia, chuckling, and stroked Claudia's face gently. "Are you in pain?" 

"A little," Claudia said.  

"Do you want me to get the nurse? Do you need some morphine?" 

"It's okay, Talia. I need to be awake now, for Stiles." 

"Here, let me," said Talia, and grabbed Claudia's hands. Immediately, the werewolf's veins started swirling with black fluid as she took some of the pain.

"I... good heavens... forgot you could do that..." Claudia murmured. "That's enough, don't overwhelm yourself..." 

"Okay," said Talia, and let go. "You'll be a bit dizzy for a few moments, but it won't floor you like morphine.”

“Thank you. And by the way, thank you for the flowers and the CD. I listened to it this morning actually.”

Talia blushed a little. “I didn’t mean to be forward with that. I just thought, since I never got to play for you, this would come close.” 

“It was all magnificent. I didn’t know that Fauré Barcarolle. But… and maybe I’m just sentimental… your _Clair de Lune_ I enjoyed the most.” 

“You flatter me,” said Talia. 

“Why didn’t you record more?” 

Talia sighed wanly. “You know, I met my husband at that concert… and when I looked at him, I just knew, he was…”

“Your mate. I’m not a werewolf, but I can say the same about when John and I met.”

Claudia coughed again. 

“Shh,” said Talia. “I’m talking too much. Rest.” 

“Wait,” Claudia replied, clearing her throat. “I have to tell you something… I had a dream last night. About your family.” 

"What?" Talia asked. 

"It's very vague. There was a fire. In the forest, where your house is. Or was the house itself on fire? It’s…vague, what with all the painkillers they’ve got me on. I don't know what it means. I tried to send out something, something to protect your family..." 

Talia was silent for a moment. "It might just be a symbol. And you shouldn't exhaust yourself. I know when you do the work that you do, it saps your strength."

"I did manage something... I got to Derek, and Cora. I didn't have control over where it landed, I was tired... I can try again..." 

"No, Claudia. It's not your fight." 

"But..." 

"Don't worry," Talia said softly.

"Be careful."

"I will. Claudia... are you scared?" 

"No," the sick woman said. "Just tired."

"Where is your husband?"

"He got called out... apparently there's been a murder... he wanted to be off, but his deputy is ill... please, if he's not here, when... when... tell him it's okay..." 

"I promise," said Talia. "And I will keep an eye over Stiles. I know he likes walking in the forest, like you do." 

"I know you've followed me when I go walking; I figured it out recently." 

"Was I that obvious? Wait.. silly question... clairvoyant and all. Listen, Claudia, I so want to stay, but I... I have to go." 

"I know," said Claudia. "I know something's going down with your... your pack?"

"Yes. But it will be all right."

Stiles walked in with a bucket of ice. 

"Hello there," said Talia, mussing his hair. "I'm going to be on my way."

Stiles gave her a little smile and held out some ice for his mom to suck on. Talia got up, and waved.

"Goodbye," said Claudia, "and thanks again for coming by. And tell Derek… he’s a beautiful boy. Give him a hug from me.” 

Talia smiled sadly. “I will. G-goodbye, Claudia. See you around, Stiles, dear.” 

She turned and walked out of the room. As she walked out of the hospital, Talia burst into tears. She sat in her car for a few minutes and sobbed, cursing herself that she couldn't do any more. But she had to be there for her pack now.  

Especially Derek. 

She shivered as she thought about Claudia's dream, and sighed wearily. Somehow, she knew she couldn't control what might happen. _The Lord giveth, and He taketh away_ , is what the devout woman would probably have said. 

Back in the room, Stiles looked anxiously at his mother. 

"Tell me about your day at school, honey. I’m sorry I was sleeping so much earlier. And tell me what you've been reading." 

"Just some comics, Mom." 

"Batman?" 

Stiles nodded. 

"So what has the Penguin done this time?"

"How do you know?" 

"You left a few here last time. I like comics too, you know?"

"You _do_? How come you never told me? Anyway it's been so cool, well bad really, because the Penguin has become mayer and taken over Gotham City and gotten Commissioner Gordon fired on some trumped up charges and the people have turned against Batman and he's had to flee to Metropolis but now he's getting Superman to help him and maybe the Green Lantern and there's going to be this awesome showdown..."  

Claudia smiled, looking at her babbling son. Thank God something could still distract him. They sat talking for a good half-an-hour (well, Stiles doing most of the talking and Claudia listening good-naturedly to her son) when another coughing fit struck her. 

"Mom? You ok?" 

A deep, deep ague whirled through Talia's core, and then she knew. 

"I'm okay Stiles," she lied, but then the boy grabbed his mother's hand again.

"Oh no," he said, as she coughed again, blood foaming at her mouth. Stiles started crying. 

Claudia managed to wipe her mouth, and took a deep breath as the coughs subsided. 

"Stilesey, look in my Missal that's on the side table. There's a little yellow card with a picture of Saint Francis on. Give it to me." 

"Okay," Stiles said, his heart still racing. He fumbled through the old book and found it, and handed it to his mother.

She tried to steady her shaking hands. 

"Stiles, will you pray with me?"

"Mommy... _no_...it can't be..."  

"Stiles," hold my hand and close your eyes. "Just pray with me."

"The one about the Sun and Moon? Your favourite?"

"No, the one on the other side of the card. Your favourite. This is for you."

She read out the old prayer slowly, holding the card in one hand while she squeezed her son’s hand tightly with the other.

 

_Make me a channel of your peace..._

_...Where there is hatred, let me sow love;_

_...Where there is error, truth;_

_...Where there is despair, hope;_

_Where there is darkness, light;_

_And where there is sadness, joy._

 

"Mommy..." 

"It's okay, Stiles..."

 

_O Divine Master, Grant that I may not so much seek_

_To be consoled as to console;_

_To be understood as to understand;_

_To be loved as to love._

 

"Please don't go, Mommy... _Please don't go_!"

"I have to. But I will always watch over you, my boy."

 

_For it is in giving that we receive;_

_It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;_

_And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life._

 

"Tell your father I love him... I love you so much, Vojtech, my precious boy... I love you... then... now and forever." 

"I love you, Mommy!" 

"St.. Stiles..."

The novena fell out of her limp hand and fluttered down to the floor like a dying butterfly.

Claudia sank down onto the pillow and closed her eyes. 

 _"Mommy! No!_ " 

The saturation monitor started falling and alarming, as John burst into the room and grabbed his hysterical son, holding him as tightly as he could even as he started sobbing himself. 

Far in the distance, a wolf howled. Under the roots of a great, gnarled tree, a mother had seen that her son’s eyes had turned blue, and she told him he was still beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have egg on my face, and realised I made a major plot error in that young Derek's blue-eye-transformation with Paige only happens the night Claudia passes away... so I've had to alter the plot and change the reason why Claudia helped Derek, however, this correction does not alter the major plot arc. Sorry if that confused you... still short on Beta'ing! Big shout out to littlewolf246, LadyX and Lokkard for all their input.
> 
> Big question is... did I manage to make you reach for the Kleenex? I kind of made myself... and I hope this hasn't been too mawkish.
> 
> Incidentally, the "Prayer of St Francis" Claudia recites was not actually written by the Saint at all (as opposed to the Canticle of the Creatures), but it is now universally associated with him.


	28. What The Thunder Saw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Moon rises. The stars align. And something wicked this way comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some smut, and then horror and gore. The latter will get worse in the next chapter. Also will appreciate input about how the plot is developing - I seem to have lost my beta reader!

Night came. 

The day had yielded itself begrudgingly, yellows melting at a glacial pace into red, then purple, and finally indigo. Still, a dim glow attached itself stubbornly in the east. 

The Moon was huge, the largest Derek had ever seen it. Behind his skull and underneath his skin, his wolf whined, yelped, clawed, seeking release. 

And, in between the horizon and the great glowing orb, the stars started tracking. At three o'clock, they knew, the Demon Star would be at zenith.  

Some mercy had come while the day was still golden, a brief two hour mercy while Stiles and Derek had their milkshakes and had a requisite make-out in the car. Making out in a car was messier and more uncomfortable and raunchier than Stiles ever imagined. He discovered Derek liked having his ears being nibbled on and Stiles found out that there was nothing like the werewolf's tongue lapping gently around his belly button. He imagined being ravaged on the back seat, simultaneously thinking if he'd get bruises from the seatbelt clips and whether Derek would rip the upholstery with inadvertently sprouting claws.  

It ended abruptly when their groins brushed against each other and both of them came in their pants. 

They both blushed, looked away, and then burst out laughing.

"Well, I'm glad I'm not alone," said Stiles breathlessly, holding his stomach. 

"Sorry," said Derek. "That hasn't happened since... since..."

"It's okay," Stiles said snorting. "It's _never_ happened, since I've never been with someone to make it happen."

Derek, disarmed, ruffled his boyfriend's hair. "Well now it has. And I'm flattered it happened with me."

"Me too. Are we always going to be this philosophical after orgasms? Because you know I _do_ have deep thoughts after I've woken up from wet dreams and had these amazing insights into life and..." 

"Shut _up_ Stiles."

They drove back in silence to the house, casting bashful grins at each other. 

Thank God the Sheriff didn't notice them skulking up the stairs to the shower. The chafing was horrid. 

"Um," said Stiles. "This is a big step but... I want to shower with you." 

Derek's eyes flashed blue and his fangs grew slightly. "I would... love that." 

They took their time, soaping up, washing each other's backs, hugging. Stiles took a deep breath and grabbed hold between Derek's legs; he shuddered and moaned. Derek closed his eyes and reciprocated; the brunet squeaked. They leaned on each other, exploring, breathing heavily. It was gentle, beautiful, almost chaste. They broke free and interlaced their fingers, kissing. Time seemed to evaporate. Then Derek was groaning with pleasure as Stiles spidered his fingers up his torso and started washing the werewolf's hair, massaging his scalp. 

"No one's ever... done that for me..." he murmured... "don't stop..." 

"I won't, Sourwolf," Stiles whispered above the hiss of the hot water. 

Afterwards, they towelled each other off, and snuck into Stiles's bedroom. They were shy all of a sudden, and kept their towels around their waists as they lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. 

"I think you need to launder those camo pants if you intend wearing them later," said Stiles, pointing to the stained trousers lying in a heap on the floor. 

"Oh, shit, yes," Derek said. "Boil wash. Since you share the washing machine with your dad." 

"Oh God, ew. Yes." 

They sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, while the clothes tumbled round and round, trying not to blush when the Sheriff came to join them for dinner. He didn't say anything about Derek wearing one of Stiles's old T-shirts and a pair of plaid boxers.

They had to eat, prepare. Before... 

Before what? Nobody was quite sure. 

"Put the books down," said Derek, when Stiles reached for the Codex and the Bestiary lying on the counter. "There's nothing more you could absorb now." 

"What if I've missed something?" 

Derek shook his head, and hugged Stiles close.  

"Relax, son," said the Sheriff. "Anyway. I think we should get going. Chris is already there, and Deaton just texted me to say he's on his way."

"Jeez," said Stiles, "You're right. It's eleven. Get dressed!"

The Sheriff raised his eyebrows and looked at Stiles as Derek ran up the stairs. 

"Okay, I have to know. Did you guys just..."

"No! Yes! I don't know! Oh my _God_ Dad... not _that_..."

The Sheriff burst out laughing. "I know you two are taking it slow and being careful. You've only been kissed once, my boy. You're living your life now." 

"You're _evil_ , Paterfamlias. My father is an evil man who likes embarrassing his son." 

"Sorry Stiles... I'm just... actually, _happy_ for you. Being intimate with someone is a big step... but Derek is the right person to... " 

"Stop right there!" Stiles said in a hysterical half-screech. They looked at each other, and then, Stiles was giggling, and the Sheriff had to look away when he started roaring with laughter.

"I'm sorry, son. You should have seen the amount of third degree I got from your uncle when... okay, I'll stop now."

 

 

*

They drove in convoy to the clearing, nodding at Deputy Jones as they saw her staking out on the shoulder of the roada few hundred yards away. Several cars were parked behind the trees, including Chris's ostentatious Humvee with "Argent Arms" emblazoned on the doors. 

Lydia and Allison handed out coffee and tea and blankets. One would have sworn people were having a midnight picnic. 

Lorelei positioned Stiles and Derek in the centre of the circle, sitting back to back.  She placed five others –Allison, Lydia, Ethan, Aiden and Jackson– around them. Alan assisted, marking out a radius of 13 yards from Stiles and Derek as the Codex suggested.  

Surprisingly, Aiden appeared upbeat, and even apologised to Jackson and his brother for being a douche earlier. 

Lorelei produced a vial and started scattering a blue-green powder around each one of them. 

The werewolves started sneezing. 

"What the hell is that?" asked Jackson, irritated. Not that vervain crap again?"

"Yes, dear," said Lorelei. "With a tiny bit of wolfsbane. Your allergy will clear up shortly."

Jackson groaned and rolled his eyes.

"I want more coffee," the werewolf groaned, and reached for one of the thermos flasks.

"Mmm," said Stiles. "Now that's a good idea." 

Then the wait. They tried singing _99 bottles_ , then played I Spy, and soon they were silent with boredom.

 

* 

 

23:58. 

23:59. 

Midnight. 

The Solstice; St John's Eve. 

As predicted, nothing happened. 

"You owe me $20," Stiles said to Jackson. "It's _obvious_ it's going to go down at 3 am. I'm going to go take a leak." 

"I'm coming with you," said Derek.  

"I'll go," said Jackson. 

"I thought only girls went to the bathroom together," said Stiles. 

"To protect you, dumbass," said Jackson. "Classic film mistake, virgin goes alone into the forest and gets eaten. Derek should stay here in case something wants to take both of you out. And for the record, I'm not peeing next to you. Ever."

"Ooh, scared you won't size up?" Stiles teased. 

" _Fuck off_ ," said Jackson. "Plus I've already seen you in the locker rooms even though you always try to be so discreet. I mean you're not bad... not that I'm into that but..."

"BOYS!" cried Lydia. 

Stiles giggled and ran off into the bushes.  

Stiles didn't get eaten, and kept on teasing Jackson for being his chaperone. Lydia smiled, watching her ex banter with her friend. Life was surreal, to say the least. He'd never been not an asshole to Stiles. 

And Jackson was looking so damn _cute_.  

She bit her lip and applied more make up. If she was going to meet the end of the world, she was damn well going to do it looking stunning.

One o'clock. 

Lorelei arranged the rest of the group between the five Sentinels as she called them, and instructed them to all hold hands. 

"Right, last dry run," she said. "All close your eyes and empty your thoughts. Stiles, don't read your incantation yet, I don't want to risk opening a portal right now, just hum something.

The old melody came to him.

 

_All around my hat_

_I will wear the green willow_

_And all around my hat_

_For a twelve month and a day..._

 

There was a hiss, and a low thrumming. Stiles felt a tingle through his body, and then it coursed through the others too.

"That's it, keep holding hands," said Lorelei. "Keep singing, Stiles."

 

_And if anyone should ask me_

_The reason why I'm wearing it_

_It's all for my true love_

_Who's far far away_

 

An arc of sparks coursed through the outside circle, and then five beams aligned themselves in a pentagram. The sparks became small balls of light.

Thunder rolled in the distance. 

"Okay! Stop! Before we bring about a portal too early!" 

Stiles stopped singing, and the activity dispersed instantly 

"So," Lorelei said, "we're on the right track. Stiles, if you read the incantation the portal will open, protected, but only at the time of the conjunction of the Moon and Algol." 

"Why didn't we confirm this earlier?" asked Derek. 

"Because it's only been St John's Eve _and_ the Solstice _since_ midnight. I thought I explained it to you. The conjunction's only starting to happen now. We can only wait now."

"All we seem to do is wait," said Jackson.

Lorelei shrugged. 

"Well, everybody set their phones for 2:45," said Stiles. "In the meantime, we could play spin the bottle or something." 

"You _would_ say that," groaned Derek. 

But then, Jackson started yawning, then Allison, then Lydia, then Ethan. Stiles furrowed his brows, but a delicious sleepy feeling overtook him. He felt Derek's muscles relax against him, then his own. 

 _...Stay awake! Don't go to sleep!_  

 _...But it feels so nice..._  

_...don't go to sleep..._

_...Mmmmmm...._

Silence. 

2:00 AM. 

2:30. 

2:45. 

 _Beep beep beep beep_  

Silence. 

2:50. 

 _Beep beep beep beep_  

Silence. 

2:55. 

_Beep beep beep beep_

2:59...  

 

 

*

 Stiles is floating. 

He _sees_ thunder, he _hears_ lightning. It's cold. Very cold.  

 _Wake up, Stiles! Wake up!_  

It feels as if he's at the bottom of an icy ocean, weighed down by chains, breath burning and choking in his lungs, about to explode. 

He feels a hand... a warm hand; it tugs, his hands burn as he clasps it.

_Vojtech Sigmund! Wake up!_

_PROBUPTE S'E!_

He is outside of himself, seeing his limp body floating towards the far away meniscus above, 

Stiles flails as he is shocked awake, millivolts of furious sodium and potassium ions arcing through each cell of his body, charging his heart, blitzing his brain, seeking Earth. 

He sucks in an icy lungful of air.

It is silent. Silent and cold. Silent and cold and so very, very, dark. 

He feels Derek slumped against his side.

He can just make out everyone in the circle is asleep, except one figure, eyes blazing blue. 

_Aiden._

"Oh my God," Stiles yells. "You spiked the drinks... what the fuck... _YOU BASTARD! What have you done?"_

Aiden rears up, snarling. "You little shit. How can you be awake? There was enough valerian in there to..." 

Stiles flails as he gets up groggily. He bends down and shakes Derek furiously. 

"Derek! Derek! Wake up! We've been betrayed! Derek?" 

Derek stirs, and moans, still limp. 

 _God in Heaven, help me. What would a wolf do?_  

 _Puppy scruff,_ something whispers in his ears. 

He grabs the back Derek's neck, _pulls_ for all he's worth.  

He remembers the words he heard while he was waking up. Old Czech.  

"Derek! _PROBUPTE S'E_!"  

Derek convulses as his eyes shoot open, glowing blue. He starts growling immediately. 

"It's too late," cackled Aiden. "This was so much easier than I thought." 

Derek rears up, wolfed out, about to pounce. 

But he gets only two yards before he yelps and slams into something invisible. 

"Mountain ash!" he cries. 

"Fuck!" Stiles screams. "And _Valerian_? No wonder..."  

It is freezing, all of a sudden, and everyone's breath is misting. 

The world sinks into itself.

Derek and Stiles cling desperately to themselves. 

Then a damp gust, bringing death... 

The thunder rolls. The moon shines. The star aligns and blue lightning scissors down around the clearing. The pentagram illuminates and all five figures around Derek and Stiles - Aiden included- are covered in a sickly green glow; they hover six feet above the ground. A sudden phsophoresence is given up by the earth, and Stiles and Derek gasp in horror as one by one, five other slumped figures rise out of the ground below the other five.  

The bodies are in various stages of decomposition. Fetid. Splayed. Naked. Wizened grins of death. Dark blood oozing from their eyes. And the marks... the marks... 

_The five sacrifices_.  

"Your incantation!" Derek hisses. 

Stiles fumbles for the card. " _Brother Sun, Sister Moon..."_  

"It's too late," Aiden cackles from his cocoon of light. "It has begun, and you can't stop it."

There is an explosion as Stiles and Derek are forced apart. They hit the ground with dull thuds.

The portal is oval, pulsating with pink and purple light, _fleshy_ , like a giant placenta.

A black rip shears longitudinally through the horrid glow. 

Then the figure steps through.

It is a woman, in a flowing aquamarine dress, floating above the ground. He dark brown hair spreads itself out against the light.

"Vojtech," she says, in the honey-ambered voice Stiles remembers. 

" _Mommy?!_ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is my first foray into the truly macabre. I hope I'm pulling it off. There are probably about 2-3 more chapters to go... and if you're confused about anything, let me know!!!! Thanks for all the peeps who have left kudos and so kindly commented! I love you all!
> 
> I also originally had Aiden hand out spiked hot chocolate to everyone, but as one reader pointed out, this was too obvious... I hope the surprise was workable. Twists are something I'm only learning about now, and as I say it seems my beta reader has gone AWOL :( :(


	29. Cum Mortuis In Lingua Morta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mouth of Hell opens, and horror rages out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic depictions of body horror and possibly disturbing depictions of evil in a religious context follow. This has all been written in a heady blur, partly because the last cliffhanger was freaking even me out!

“Hello, my boy.” 

“Mom?! What? What’s going on?” 

Stiles felt the panic starting to whirl inside him. 

Derek grabbed his hand. “Mrs _Stilinski?”_ he gasped, utterly confused.

The woman smiled and ran a finger through her hair as the portal disappeared behind her and the five whirling in the air fell back behind the ring of corpses. The last time Stiles had seen his mother with long hair was when they were in Thailand. 

“Don’t be afraid,” she continued gently. “I’ve done this all for you.” 

Tears ran down the brunet’s face. “I don’t understand… Mama…Mommy… How….”

She sighed. “I’m a little disappointed, Stiles. Your talents have been developing rapidly. Don’t you know what you are?” 

Stiles clawed his nails into Derek’s wrist, trying to control the flood of fear. He started jabbering in spite of himself.  

“I… I… Lorelei came and… I know I’ve got these gifts and that you made this deal and…” 

“Lorelei’s been useful,” she said, gazing at the brunet with a half-smile, “but she’s not as powerful as we are. The time has come for you to join me.”

“What?” 

“We can have absolute power together. We can make all of this pain stop… leave all this silliness and take my hand, my boy, then I can come back.”

“But… but you took all those people… you _killed_ them!”

“For you, my child. You know a parent will do anything for their child. Otherwise the cycle would just have continued, on and on and on…”

“What are you saying? I’m some kind of…” 

She held out a beautiful hand. Her skin was milky and shone in the moonlight.

“Come, Stiles.”

“Stiles!” cried Derek.

“I… I don’t know…” the brunet stammered. 

“I hate to do this, my boy, but I think you need some convincing.” 

Lightning arced from her hands and shot across, enveloping Derek. He convulsed, howling in pain as he rose three feet in the air. 

He wolfed out. She was electrocuting him. 

“Mommy! No!” 

“I can make it stop,” she cooed. “If you join me. This evil in Beacon Hills will just carry on if you refuse. I’d hate to hurt your friend…” 

“He’s not my friend… he’s my… he's my...” 

Derek was whining like a puppy as every muscle in his body twitched and writhed with thousands and thousands of spectral volts.

“All right,” Stiles said in a half-sob. “Please. Anything. Don’t hurt Derek.” 

“NO! STILES!” 

Stiles shook his head. He got up and walked towards her. The lightning stopped, and Derek fell to the ground. 

“I thought you’d come round,” she said. She sniffed, and cocked her head. “What is that smell?” 

Stiles furrowed his brow with the non-sequitur as he stood face-to-face to her, about to extend his hand. 

“Mom? What?”

“It’s awful! Some horrid cologne your wearing!”

“Cologne?!”

“Mint… …you _stink_ of it… of wolf…” 

Stiles gasped. “You _love_ mint… oh my God…”

The panic stopped in its tracks, and turned into rage 

“YOU’RE NOT MY MOTHER!”

The woman shrieked; her eyes glowed like coals.

The words shot out of Stiles like a locomotive. 

“ _Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis_!”

Bright light welled out of his hands and congealed into a ball. He threw it at the apparition, who screeched as it exploded around the form with a deafening bang. 

Stiles was thrown back again, but Derek caught him in his arms.

“Show me who you are!” Stiles screamed, as the figure began to morph in front of him. “Don’t. You. Dare. Mock. My. Mother.”

The form shuddered, and drew itself up to its full length. It loomed before Stiles and Derek.

Hideous. 

Ancient. 

Gnarled. 

Bloody. 

Glistening.  

It was about seven foot tall. Its skin grey and green and moist with slime. Its torso was all ribs and seeping wounds. Where its abdomen would have been was an oval whorl of membrane and dangling guts. The legs were bird-like, twisted inwards as if they had rickets, black scales rampant. A stench of something beyond rot and decay seeped from its core. 

It was the smell of a million souls locked together in fear, in pain, in despair. 

The creature’s eyes glowed scarlet. It flashed a grin of twisted yellow teeth, and brought its claws to its temples, hissing. 

In a deep, rasping, ancient growl, it spoke. 

“Interesting. I guess I should have given you more credit. But the little ruse was at least fun. Now I’m afraid I’m going to have to dig a little deeper, seeing that you had to use your stupid little words that have given me just so slightly a headache.”

“Where is my mother?!” Stiles demanded. 

“How should I know? Probably up _there_ ,” it grunted, pointing a claw up to the sky. “With _Him_ and all His self-righteous sycophantic little humans He loves so much. When We did so much for Him…”

“Spare me your little childhood issues,” Stiles snorted. “I know who you are, and I’m not afraid of you! I’ll chase you back to Hell!”

“Oh, stop being so _melodramatic_ , Stiles.”  

It giggled, a hideous, nauseating inversion of a child’s laugh, infinite octaves deeper, continuing to speak. “You think I’m just a little minion of My Father Below? Do you think I honestly bother just possessing bodies now and then? _I EAT SOULS. I WILL EAT YOURS._ Your pathetic words can only chase one of my brothers out of one of your silly temporal corpses. Do you honestly think My Father Below thinks you can destroy him? We are Legion. We are Everywhere. And magnificent as I am in this fine form, I am but a part of him, come to do his bidding, because he is ravenous for your delicious little soul. _You're the one I've been waiting for_. Now if you’ll just be a dear boy and _give yourself to me!_ ” 

Stiles spat on the ground. “You think that’s supposed to scare me?” he said, trying desperately to quell his heart racing. “You’ll send me to my grave without bragging a bit more? None of this is news.” 

The creature pursed its ancient lips. 

“Trying to stall for time, I see? How clever. Very well, this will make things a bit more interesting. I suppose I could indulge your silly little brain’s thirst for so much knowledge a bit more. I have many faces. Some have called me Gallu. Or Illu. Or Krampus.”

“The Child Eater,” said Stiles. “That’s why you’ve abducted all these young people. You’re _pathetic_. You want your own children, don’t you? Which you can never have!"

The creature flinched for a second.

"You can never destroy an innocent soul," Stiles continued. "You can just play games with them a while. You can only possess them conpletely if they willingly give themselves… and _we never will._ ” 

 “So feisty, and so intelligent. I underestimated you. Most humans would have been quaking now.” 

Stiles folded his arms, looking fierce, leaning into Derek, who clung to him like a limpet, hissing. 

“I’m bored, really,” said Stiles. “Whatever your name is, you’re just an egotistical asshole with scales and wings. And fuck-ugly, too.” 

The creature screeched with rage. 

“How _dare_ you! I’ve never understood why… _He_ above wastes his time with you fickle creatures. It makes me _sick_. Now werewolves, that was one of His better ideas, but oh, no, he had to make them _good_ , well, at least until…” 

The creature fixed its gaze upon Derek, who stared back at it, eyes blue and fierce. 

“Why are you looking at me?” Derek demanded.

“Did your imbecile of an Emissary never tell you what one of my other names is?"

"Try me."

" _Lycaon._ ” 

Derek gasped in horror. “The first werewolf? _No!_ ” 

“Oh, verily, you misguided child of mine. Trying so hard to be good, when you should just yield yourself to your true nature.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Stiles hissed. “He's lying! You’re not his!” 

“Could we get this over already?” said another voice. It was Aiden, who was standing with his arms folded. The blast had woken the others, who were groggily moaning and writhing about like stunned zombies. 

The creature turned. “Aiden. Come _here_ , my pet, and become the werewolf you always wanted to be.”

“Traitor!” Derek hissed, snarling.

"No, brother!" Ethan cried frantically in the background, desperately trying to get to his twin, unable to move.

Aiden spat in Derek’s face as he walked past him. The beast stepped out of the circle and held out a glistening talon. 

“Did I do everything correctly, Master?” he said, kneeling before it.

“Oh _yessssss."_  


“So. About what we discussed?”

"Very well," the creature sighed as it caught Aiden’s hand. Red sparks jumped from its talon and writhed up Aiden’s torso. His eyes started glowing deep red as he wolfed out. 

"You sold us out so you could be an Alpha again?!" Stiles said incredulously. 

“Oh YEAH!” Aiden howled with joy, convulsing with pleasure. “I can feel the power!”

“Good, isn’t it?” said the creature, and held onto the werewolf’s hand more tightly.

"Y-y-yeah... w-w-w-what's this..."

The sparks became more intense, congealing into a river of glowing blood. Aiden’s look turned from joy to horror as flames erupted all over his body. 

“NO!” he screamed. “What… what are you… you promised…”

The creature cackled. “There’s only room for _one_ traitor here, and that’s Me.” 

Aiden gave a horrible yowl as he erupted into a fireball that exploded outwards, balls of charred flesh splattering everywhere. 

" _BROTHER!_ "

Lydia screamed, high and shrill. Most of the group were awake now, and had watched the grisly scene unfold in front of them in horrified silence.

The creature covered its bat-like ears. “Shut _up_ , you little bitch!” 

“Don’t speak to her like that!” Stiles shouted. He held out his hands again and flashed a pulse of light, which struck the creature on the side. 

It turned around, seething. “You’re just making this more difficult. All you little people can do is give me flesh wounds. I will prevail. Come with me now, Stiles.” 

“I’m not that fucking stupid! How do I know you won’t hurt my friends? Or not bring Scott and Cora and Isaac back? Where are they?”

“Oh you are just too, too clever. Like your mother. I’m afraid I can’t lie. Unlike that pathetic pile of flesh who wanted his power back, sadly, some agreements hold. You can’t blame me for _trying_. Even I can’t release your three little wolves until the others have come through.”

“Others?” 

“All will be revealed. Now shut up, Vojtech, and behold my awesome power! And tell your dog to stop growling.”

The creature stretched out its horrid bony limbs and started droning in an unearthly voice. The five corpses on the ground rose up, spinning. The wounds on each one of them lit up with tiny amber flames: two of the bodies showed a hand with a hole in, the same for two others with a hole each on their feet; the fifth had a gash on its side.

“I bet your mother would have loved that!” the creature cackled, green sputum slathering from its mouth. 

“The five wounds of Christ!” screamed Lorelei, who had managed to get to her feet.

“Oh, _hello_ , Miss Dvorak. How nice to see you again. You’ve been _so_ wonderfully useful.” 

“Lori?” Stiles cried. “What’s does that mean?” 

“Tell him,” the creature cackled, clearly enjoying itself. 

“Stiles…” Lorelei gasped, starting to cry… “I meant to tell you… I didn’t mean to…”

“Wait,” said Stiles, taking a deep breath and face palming the air in front of him. “I don’t really care now. We can talk about this later. _If_ there even is a later.” 

The creature snarled. Stiles swore it was irritated. It cast its horrid eyes backwards. 

 _“Yes, yes, yes,_ you can come through now and get your little rewards!” it shrieked. It started muttering in its awful deep drone again. There was a flash of light and the portal reappeared. “I’m afraid I have to take leave of you for a moment,” it said almost truculently. “They have to have their fifteen minutes of fame each. I’ll be watching, of course. This is going to be quite hilarious.” 

“I’m bored,” said Stiles. 

“Don’t taunt it!” Derek whispered in its ear. “You saw how angry it gets!”

“You asked for it,” said the creature. “Vojtech Stilinski, meet the first of some people who are just DYING to see you all!” 

The creature disappeared in a billow of sickly fog.  

A different form appeared in the portal. 

She was wearing a leather catsuit and her wavy brown hair hung around her shoulders. 

 _Kate Argent._  

“Kate?!” Stiles cried in horror. 

“Stiles.” she snorted. 

Her eyes: they weren’t eyes. They were hollow sockets; dark red meat hanging behind them.  

“It’s been a while, you little red ass fucker,” she snorted. “I’m not here for you. I’m here to destroy your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend.”

Derek wolfed out and charged, his mouth a maw of fangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title chapter, Cum Mortuis In Lingua Morta is Latin for "With The Dead In The Tongue Of The Dead", the title of a movement from Mussorgsky's "Pictures At An Exhibition", a genuinely creepy piece of music you can check out here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWIfx7yY7X4 (Note: Mussorgsky originally titled it "CON Mortuis," but the correct Latin is "Cum mortuis"... okay, got that nerd spazz out of my head.
> 
> The Creature's reference to "My Father Below" comes from C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters, where a demon refers to Satan as "Our Father Below".
> 
> Need to rest now - I'm all horrored out!


	30. Furies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The identity of the Three are revealed, and Derek is faced with a horrifying choice.

"Derek... the mountain ash..." Stiles gasped, then he felt his hands burn. There was flash, a yelp. Derek was _outside_ the circle. He landed on all fours, howling as Kate's boot connected with his nose.

Black blood spurted on the ground. 

" _No!_ " Stiles yelled, and ran towards the edge of the ring but found himself knocked back. 

"Oh _yes_ ," Kate said. She placed her other spiked boot on his chest. He was pinned down, flailing with swiping claws and gnashing teeth. "This time I don't need any little _accoutrements_ from my family. Oh hello, brother dear. I must say being on this side is rather exhilirating." 

"K--Kate?" Chris stammered, horrified. 

 _"Vade!"_ Stiles yelled, and a spark sizzled from his hands, ricocheting pathetically across the walls of the circle.  

Ethan and Lydia's howling and shrieking had morphed into silence while the others struggled and beat against their ash circles.  

"Kate!" cried Allison, beating furiously against her invisible prison.

"It's nux vomica, dear niece," said Kate, giggling a little as she saw everyone's confused look. "Not just a wonderful way to poison a dog. It makes mountain ash impassable to humans too. At least under perigee Full Moons. Poor Ethan was a very useful little drug mule." 

 _Strychnine_ , Stiles and Alan thought simultaneously. Ethan howled in anguish for his traitor brother, not knowing which shock hurt the most: his death or his betrayal.  

"What... what do you want..." Derek said gagging as she pressed harder onto his chest. 

"Among other things, y _ou_ , of course, sweetcakes," she said, licking her lips. "As a present for my new master, whom you'll meet shortly.  Then I can get all my treats I've asked for. But that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun beforehand. Sadly he wants you alive. But no-one said anything about _maimed_."  

"I'll _kill_ you," said Stiles, while a ghastly froth of air and blood bubbled from Derek's nostrils. 

"I'm already dead, honey. And thank you so much for letting Derek through his little prison! Don't you see your little magic tricks don't work so well now that he's not right with you?" 

Stiles's hands were getting unbearably hot as the anger rose.  

 _“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus!”_  

He fell back moaning as they started smoking and glowing.  

"Stiles!" Derek wailed while he struggled, unable to move. "Just _take me_ ," said Derek. "Just let the others go!" 

Kate burst out laughing. "I will, in a little while, sweetie. Mmmm, smelling your loved one's charred flesh. Déjà vu much?" 

Derek roared. 

She knelt down, now resting both her knees on top of him. She trailed a blood-red nail across his jaw.  

"I nearly forgot. Another useful side-effect of strychnine. A little bit a day gets a Codex your way. So good at neutralizing protection wards, in just the right dose. Undetectable to werewolves." 

"WHAT?" Derek cried, eyes blue and ablaze, furious.

"You're so fucking stupid... The cologne I bought you. You wore it every day, didn't you, I told you how _nice_ it smelt on you. Oh and it did. You were so cute, telling me how good it felt to touch me... let me touch you... "  

Derek gasped, hacking, screaming, crying.   

"You knew your mommy wasn't going to give you the Big Bad Book if you just asked for it. There are powerful wards on such things so that a pathetic little lovesick Beta like you _wouldn't_ run and fetch it and give it to the first woman who showed him some attention... oh wait, now, I would have been the second. Didn't the first one end up dead underneath a tree somewhere because of you?"

_"YOU BITCH!"_ Stiles screamed as Derek roared incomprehensibly, tears of rage and hurt spewing out of his eyes and mixing with the black froth billowing on his cheeks. 

"Aw, remorse," said Kate. "Maybe you need some more detail to  _fully_ feel it. Once I had the book it was so easy to find out exactly when your mommy was going to call the entire pack together. And where other protection wards were vulnerable... hmmm, yes, like with your electrical wiring. Of course Laura went to go pick you and your little sister up from school, but I guess, you win some, you lose some."

"Katherine. Please."

The sound of her full name made her stiffen and turn her head.  

Her brother gazed mournfully at her, palms facing upwards, beseeching. In the background Ethan sobbed, the Sheriff and Melissa straining to reach out to the anguished boy. 

"Why are you even _here,_ Chris," she said with a disgusted look. "You're pathetic. You and Allison both. Is this what the Argents have become? Running with _werewolves_? Who should be _destroyed_?”  

“Things change,” he said quietly. “We can be friends. And even the Code says…”

“Screw the fucking Code! You always had such a hard-on for it! And why the fuck Dad always entertained your oh-so-noble notions I’ll _never_ understand.”  

Stiles's hands burnt again. If he could just... he saw the hurt in Allison's eyes, he saw Derek hurting.

 

_Vade, vade_... 

 

He caught sight of Allison, who looked back at him. 

“Please, Kate, this is cruel,"  Chris continued. "Our mother wouldn’t want this…where you're from, I... God... don't know... have you...” 

Chris's eyes started welling. "Victoria... have you seen her..." 

“Shut _up_!”  

Her eyes were human now.

 

_I don’t care how much this hurts…_

 

Stiles yelled with pain as the flash of light escaped from his hands and coursed towards Allison, his hands smoking as the bolt burst into scarlet flames around the huntress, falling on the circle of ash that suddenly turned bright green and then evaporated.  

The pain raged, hot knives twisting through his palms, his forearms. He was dizzy. 

Allison aimed her bow.

Then the arrow, zipping through the circle, flying through the summer air, and into Kate's shoulder. 

Kate screeched and staggered back. Derek gasped as he rolled himself away from his tormentor. He saw the gap in the circle where her flailing legs had smudged it open. 

Derek pounced. 

There was a scrabbling, a tumbling; screaming and roaring. They fought like two dark cartoon characters in a whirl. Blood —both venous dark and arterial red— swept around them like spray from an infernal sprinkler. 

Derek was convulsing with pain again. He saw the rock, and yelping, dodged it. Kate's feet connected with it and she faceplanted onto the ground with a thud, a sickening crack as her something fractured. Derek caught sight of Stiles moaning, and bounded towards Stiles, yelping as he pushed against the force field. 

Stiles held up his palms.

"No Derek, get the others!" 

"NO! You're hurting!" 

Derek was growling, and Stiles taken aback. Derek was yelling, pushing into the field with all his might. 

"Reach out to him Derek!" yelled the Sheriff. "Stiles, push back!"

_Scott did this. We can do this_.

_Push._  

 _Push._  

_Come to me, come to me. Muj vlk. My wolf._

_Come to me, come to me. Mon amour. My love._

 

And then, the hands connecting, Derek howling and still bleeding,  a flash of amber in his eyes. The pain, the burn hissed as it travelled up Derek's arms in the familiar dark divisions and precisions. 

"Now, Stiles!" 

" _Vade!"_  

Another flash, a series of bright coruscations arcing across the whorl of ash circles. Then they were gone. The crowd charged as Kate stood up.

But then, a quake from the earth, and the others staggered back, paralysed with shock. 

Groans spread across them. They were winded, unable to get up. 

There was a claw, an arm, and then a figure oozing out of the dangling fleshy portal. Kate turned around:

 

_Kali_.

 

She grinned at Kate, her face all teeth and red eyes, the hideous black claws sprouting from her hands and feet. 

Kate wiped her nose and grinned back. 

Derek hissed, pounced. Kali’s fist connected with his face. He was flung back six feet and landed on his back.  

"Sister," Kate said, grinning. 

"Hello, Katie dear. So glad you went first. You've made it _so much_ easier." 

"You made a pact with a _werewolf_?" Stiles hissed.  

"Sometimes political decisions have to be made, you little idiot. Once we wipe out this stupid pack I get to control the Hunters and she controls her kind... isn't it, my dear... _grrrrghghgh..._ " 

Kali's hand clenched itself around Kate's neck. She picked her up and _squeezed_ , cackling. 

 _"Kaghgh... kaghghg... Kali... why... how..."_  

"Did you really think I was going to let you share? And what made you think your silly little human form wasn’t going to be mortal... if enhanced... on this plane”

" _Fgghghg...fffffffuck you..."_  

Kali sighed dramatically, and flung Kate far, far, into the forest. 

There was a sick, distant thud. 

A second arrow whizzed through the air. Kali caught it in her hand and flung it back. The Sheriff screamed as it landed like a dart into his thigh. 

“Dad!” Stiles yelled. 

Ethan leapt at Kali, but her kick caught him square in the chest. He was thrown back, smacking into a tree-trunk. He was out instantly. A horizontal rain of bullets fired from the rest of the Hunters, but they passed harmlessly through her. 

Sparks hissed and bubbled from Stiles’s hands, but as he formed a word in his mouth she had pounced and grabbed him, holding him k as she had Kate. 

“Let him go!” Derek yelled, panting as he tried to get up. I don’t care what you do to me,” he growled.  

Kali sniffed and cocked her head. “Oh, _Derek_ , so self-sacrificing. Relax. I’m not going to do anything to him… yet… we’re going to play a little game first. It was my new mate’s suggestion.” 

“Mate?!” Stiles said, gagging. 

“Quiet, you little shit. Choose, Derek. I'll let your little bitch go, but then I get to have the pack."

“ _NO_!” Stiles managed. “She’ll kill them all!”  

“Only the weak ones. Starting with the humans first.” 

“You fucking bitch!” Lydia screamed. 

Kali rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll start with her, if you like,” she said sniggering, and walked up to Lydia, dragging a frantically scrabbling Stiles behind her with one hand. Lydia tried to run, but the she-wolf caught her by her hair and yanked her squealing  into an arm-lock.  

“So, Derek. What will it be? Your snivelling human concubine, or pretty little Lydia? And no, giving yourself up isn’t an option. If you don't choose, I kill _everyone_.”  

Stiles and Lydia stared desperately at each other, unable to free themselves from her hideous black claws. 

Derek was raging now, howling, tears and blood washing across his wolfed out face. 

No matter what he did, the consequences would be too horrific to think of. 

Lose the pack or lose his love. Either way, he’d never forgive himself.

“I’m waiting, Derek,” she said, a maniacal smile curling her dark lips.

Derek’s mind was inverting. If only he could reach out… connect physically with Stiles somehow… and Stiles was so close, yet so far, far away.  

_Far far away_.

 

Slowly, Derek started singing. 

 

 _”All around my hat, I will wear the green willow…”_  

Stiles’s eyes were wide. Really, of all the times to get nostalgic… 

_Oh…_  

Even as she was choking him, Stiles managed to join in. 

“ _And all around my hat, for a twelve month and a day…”_  

 _“_ What the hell?” Kali said, bristling with anger. 

The electricity started welling in Stiles’s hands, and it wasn’t hurting. 

“ _And if anybody should ask me the reason why I’m wearing it_ …” 

Stiles, Lydia and Derek looked at each other. Kali felt a buzzing where she was holding Stiles. It started burning. 

“Together! Louder!” Lydia shouted. 

Stiles and Derek’s voices were mingling, the brunet’s tenor to the werewolf’s baritone, a perfect octave apart. 

“ _It’s all for my true love…”_  

Kali yelped as a vicious pain travelled up her arms and coursed through her body. She dropped her prizes and Derek was on top of her in an instant, swiping, snarling, pinning her down. The she-wolf screeched with rage, and hit back with a clawed fist, but a bolt of light from Stiles immobilised her. 

 _“This is not how it’s supposed to be!_ ” she hissed with protean fury.  

Derek was grabbing her by the neck just as she had done with Stiles and Lydia. The brunet kept a hand on the werewolf’s shoulder, humming the tune of his mother’s song softly. They could feel the bond zigzagging between them. 

The werewolf’s claws were right next to her pulsing carotid. Under their combined energy, he could feel she was mortal now. 

But Kali smiled. The smile of a demon: dead, calm, ravenous.

“Kill me, then,” she gurgled, her breaths now alternating with bilious chuckles. “It’ll make you stronger for when he comes to take you. “I’ll just find another way back, even if it takes me _years_.”  

Derek stared at her intently, frowning as he growled.

He was silent for a few moments, his breathing easy, and then the werewolf shifted back into human form. 

“No,” he said eventually. “I’m not like you.” 

He relaxed his grip on her, but the more she tried flailing about the more she found herself unable to move. Stiles was holding onto Derek’s free hand tightly now, swirls of energy flowing from his body through the werewolf and onto Kali. A thin membrane of blue light welled up from the ground and plastered itself onto the she-wolf, who could only screech and yell with rage. 

“Stiles!” Lorelei cried in the distance, “that’s a containment ward! I’ve never managed that!”

“What do I do?” he said. 

“Just stay close to Derek,” Deaton said, getting up and walking towards them. “You can safely step back. It will hold for at least an hour until we figure out what to do with her… there’s still another we have to deal with!” 

“I don’t know what that is, but it’s really awesome,” said Lydia sweetly, who had calmly gotten to her feet and was running a silken hand through her dishevelled hair. “Is it hurting her?” 

“I don’t think so,” said Stiles, as fascinated as she was. “But I’m not complaining!” 

“Then allow me,” said the strawberry blonde, who bent down and _screamed_ into Kali’s ear. The she-wolf convulsed helplessly with horror as the sonic shock bored through her skull and ricocheted through her brain.  

“That’s for hurting my friends,” Lydia said, and then kicked Kali in the side with a scarlet Jimmy Choo. “And _that_ ’s for ruining my hair.” 

Stiles couldn’t help giggling.

“Enough,” said Derek, whose eyes were glowing… 

… _yellow_.

“Derek?!” Stiles gasped. “Your eyes! They’re not… blue… they’re… they’re…” 

“I can feel it,” said Derek, shivering. “It can’t be… how… I’ve killed…”

“But you were never a murderer, dear nephew.” 

A new wave of gasps rushed through the crowd, who had run towards where a third figure had pushed through the still-pulsating portal.

Stiles and Derek whipped their heads around and stared into the bemused expression of Peter Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting close to the end now... this chapter was exhausting to write, and it took me a little while to do so because life intervened and work exploded. But my plan is to have it done and dusted before 3b starts, because I realise my canon will have significantly have diverged from what Jeff Davis has in store for us!


	31. Rendition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words were so sincere. The flood of memories was so painful. They jarred in Derek's head, sparring, pulling his mind into sere ribbons.

 

“Peter?”

Derek’s face was full of shock.  

Peter's eyes were human and sad. He reached out a hand towards his nephew. 

Stiles leapt between the two werewolves.  

"Oh _no_ you don't!" said the brunet, shooting a ball of blue fire towards the older man. Peter fell writhing onto the ground, moaning. 

“Stiles!” Peter gasped. “It’s okay.” He tried pathetically to scramble upright. "I know what this looks like... but I don't mean any harm." 

"You're the fucking third demon!" the brunet yelled. Derek's eyes were still glowing, but he was human now, his mouth agape, his expression incredulous.

"Stiles..." Peter said softly. “You’re all safe. You’ve got me imprisoned here. Like Kali.” 

He gingerly tried to push a hand in front of him but was jolted back by the ward. "Impressive," he continued. “Just goes to show you never needed the Bite. And you didn't need any help to deal with the other two." 

"You _traitor_!" Kali shrieked.   

"Shut _up_!" said Lydia, and the she-wolf winced.  

"I don't understand," said Derek. 

"It doesn't matter," said Peter wearily. "We don't have much time. The portal will close soon now, and then _It_ will come back to take me, and it will be furious know that I fooled it..." 

"How did you...?" asked Stiles, who toned down the ward without thinking so that Peter's movement was a bit freer. He couldn't help feeling surprised at how naturally it was coming to him now. 

"I lied," Peter said, managing a shrug as he got up slowly, the ward allowing him just enough room to balance on his feet. "Even demons can't read thoughts. And _this_ one is particularly arrogant. He thought I'd jump at the chance to exact retribution." 

"But he'll rip your soul apart!" Derek exclaimed. 

"I'm prepared for that," Peter said. "I deserve it. I've done terrible things. You have no idea how horrible the desolation is where I am.... but I thought, if I could do _one good thing_...  help stop all this evil coming back and taking over Beacon Hills..."  

"Uncle..." Derek said, his face anguished. "I so want to trust you..." 

" _I don't deserve trust!"_ the older werewolf shouted. "When I came back..." –he pointed at Lydia– "I got drunk on the power. Hell, I was drunk on the power from the beginning. After the fire... all I could think of was revenge. I was angry that Laura wasn't seeking retribution for what those fuckers did to our family. And then I _killed_ her, I took her _life_ because I thought she wasn't worthy of the power of the wolf. But I was the one who I took our gift and pissed all over it. I'm so sorry, Derek... I'm so so sorry..." 

 The words were so sincere. The flood of memories was so painful. They jarred in Derek's head, sparring, pulling his mind into sere ribbons. 

"Enough," Derek said eventually. "I slit your throat once. I'm as guilty." 

"Self-defence. Not murder. You did it to protect your pack, my boy."

"Then tell me how to protect them now."

"I don't trust him," Stiles said, frowning. 

“I wouldn’t either, if I were you,” the older werewolf said to the brunet wearily. “But Scott and Isaac and Cora have to be rescued. It's going to be dangerous. You're not just putting your life in danger, your soul is going to be as naked as it will ever be." 

"I've done that before," Stiles snorted, "and I'm still here, aren't I." 

"You don't understand, Stiles," said Peter. "This will test everything you thought you knew about reality. The living are not supposed to enter the realm of the dead.” 

"I'll go," said Derek. 

"You can't," said Peter. “Only some can.” 

"He's right," Lorelei added. "You'll have to stand guard at the portal to receive him. Only a Red can enter from all I know. And then your bond will be thin... strained... and your bond is still new, vulnerable." 

"I see your knowledge is more than I thought," said Peter. "I know all about what you did, Miss Dvorak."  


Lorelei went pale. "How..." 

"You see a lot of things, where I am. You see all the pain and horror in the world. Especially how mistakes made earlier come back, all grown up, writhing with hurt and retribution.” 

"I know Stiles said it doesn't matter," said Derek, his eyes flaring blue again. “But I need to know. Tell me." 

Lorelei was ashen. "I was... I was jealous of your mother's power," she said softly, her arms folded, her eyes downcast. "I was the second rate worker; I never could come close to what she could do. And she hardly ever used it." 

"What?" asked Stiles. 

"When Claudia... oh God... when we made contact, I thought all that power was going to go to waste. When I sensed her power draining, being given up to the entity, ..I… I... held on to some of it; I didn't mean to, Stiles, but I drew out more than what your mother could put up with. I was selfish... and then she went quicker than we had hoped. And that’s why it is still hungry… hungrier than it would have been. I fucked up. I put us all in danger.” 

" _No_!" Stiles cried. "How could you?!"  

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I couldn't face you for years. It's your mother's power that made me sense that the evil had come back; that's how I came to you. To make up for what I did. I would have told you earlier, but I was afraid you'd chase me away, and I wanted to make sure you knew everything you could." 

Stiles was breathing faster and faster as the panic starting whirling in his belly. Derek sensed it immediately, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend. 

"Not now, Stiles," he said softly. "Easy. Easy. You have to be strong." 

"She betrayed you, that's correct," said Peter. "Perhaps I shouldn't have let it slip. But… Stiles… you're also the one who can stop this. You need to go... _now_. The Creature will at least be occupied for a few moments when it senses I've scuppered his plans.”  

Stiles stared at Lorelei, his face anguished, heartbroken. He looked at Peter. He looked at Derek.

Everyone looked so fucking fragile.

He took a deep breath. 

“Like I said, Lori…” he said in a low, quiet voice, “it doesn’t matter. So. Peter. How do I know everyone will be safe this side when I’m… well… beyond?” 

“I would give you my word, but I know that’s not worth much,” said Peter. “You have a powerful bunch of allies here, and your magic is strong.” 

“What does he mean by strong, Lori?” 

“Stiles… I don’t know how you’d even want to speak to me right now but… yes… your wards will hold, especially if the rest of us stay in a circle and contain Kali… even if Derek’s uncle were lying to us, he’d be no match for a combined ward.” 

Stiles fisted his hands at Derek’s shirt and stared into the grey-green pools of the werewolf’s irises. 

The werewolf bumped his forehead against the brunet’s. They felt each other’s hearts racing. 

“Will you keep them safe?” asked Stiles, looking over his shoulder to the others.  

“With my life,” Derek said in a low but gentle growl. 

A high, distant whine came out of the portal. They had heard it before. 

Scott. 

“I have to go now!” said Stiles, who jumped to his feet and took off towards the pulsing slit of light. As he came within a foot of it he seemed to walk into something invisible. There was a bright pulse. Stiles was pushed back flailing and cursing. 

“What the fuck?” he said, gasping and winded. “Did someone mountain ash magic mix this as well? It won’t let me in!” 

Peter’s face was grim. “I was worried this would happen. I had an idea this was an exit only… that’s what that Thing told us.” 

“How are we going to get Stiles through to get to the others?” Lydia said, her voice now frightened.

“There’s got to be another way,” said Jackson. 

Another way. 

“Oh my God. Yes!” Stiles said, now animated. “Chris! What’s that French quote on your medallion say again?” 

“Uh… _pour chaque sortie_ … for every exit there is another entrance.” 

“That's it! There must be another portal I can enter!” 

“But it could be anywhere!” cried Allison. 

_Think_ , Stilinski. 

“We… we know the clearing is in the middle of the pattern predicted by the pattern of the bodies, one border is the Hale House and the other the Lake. So what’s about 600 yards in the other direction? Deep in the woods?”

“It must be some significant area of activity,” said Lorelei. “Something old… a place of ritual, of sacrifice.” 

“Oh my God,” said Deaton. “I know where an entry portal could be.” 

“The Nemeton,” the Sheriff said softly, and several people shuddered. Derek twitched slightly. 

“Then I have to get there! Now!”

“I’m going with you,” said Derek. “I’m staying by your side for as long as I possibly can.” 

“Well,” said Jackson, who had walked up to join the face-off between Peter and Stiles, “I certainly didn’t fly all across the continent to just sit in a fairy circle. I’m coming as back-up, unless my Alpha has a better use for me. Lorelei can give me that magic rope catastrophe you've fashioned, I still don't think it will work, but...” 

“As you wish,” said Derek. “Follow us. Ethan, are you able to take over things this side? And let Lorelei lead the group in maintaining the wards?” 

Ethan looked longingly at Derek, his face still awash with shock and sadness.  

“Yes,” he said eventually. “I must. For the pack. And Danny just called, he’s on his way here.” 

“Jump on Derek’s back,” said Allison. “Let him wolf out and carry you to the Nemeton. It’s the fastest way. Go _now_.”  

“She’s right,” said Lydia, and pointed up to the sky. “Look. Algol is starting to drift out of the alignment.” 

Derek ripped off his shirt and dropped down all fours. He looked back at his boyfriend with a half-wolfed-out face, _grinning_.   

“Your chariot awaits, m’lord,” he said gruffly. 

“Ha!” said Stiles, who jumped onto Derek’s muscular back, his hands on either side of the triskelion. “I like the view, but is it necessary?” 

“Aerodynamics,” Derel replied with a snort. “Now shut up and hold on to me.” 

Stiles jumped on Derek’s back and wrapped his arms tightly around his muscular chest.  

Then they had taken off, and Derek was dashing through the forest, Stiles trying very hard not to scream with terror as the wolfman gleefully ignored the law of gravity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone and hope you had a blessed festive season! Thanks for your patience; I'll be winding this baby up soon hopefully before 3b premieres! Thanks for reading!


	32. De Profundis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tiles is floating. 
> 
> He doesn't know how, but his body hovers above the snow. The flakes are falling fast; the wind whips around everywhere, a million tiny vortices trying to get under his skin and flay him alive. He is moving, somehow, the way the branches rush over him, even as he looks away, frightened they might reach down and claw his eyes out.
> 
> He remembers the creature. The hot putrid breath behind him, the snarling, the slobbering, the yellow eyes bright. Then Kate, the knife, the blinding pain. He tries to scream but there's no breath. He waits to die.

The second portal was waiting for them, almost nonchalantly, hovering above the remnants of the Nemeton, arched like a Gothic cathedral. As Stiles and Derek approached it, it started pulsing, sending off low vibrations. 

Derek hissed as he felt the portal repelling him.

“It’s okay,” said the brunet. “I have to go in.”

Derek whimpered, and brought a hand tenderly to Stiles’s face.

“Be careful.”

“I will.” 

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

“I know." 

They kiss chastely, and then Stiles turns around, and leaps into the glowing void.

 

*

 

It’s cold. 

So terribly, terribly, cold.  

Everywhere he looks, it’s white. The wind seems to blow from all directions, screeching, trying to get inside his skull and drown him in its icy rage. 

He realises he’s floating, a small point in the centre of a vast nothingness. Up, down, left, right: he can’t get a sense of anything. 

He tries to summon his magic, but it’s weak, distant; he gets out of breath as he concentrates. 

He tries to move, but with every twitch of muscle the void around him closes in like a dense frozen syrup, smothering, resisting. 

A high scream pierces through the wail of the wind. The brunet shudders with horror. It’s a voice of fear, of desolation, of despair. The scream is not one voice, but many: an infinite series of horrible harmonics. As he struggles, it gets louder. Everything blends together: sadness, rage, hurt, defeat. It wants to claim him, force him down… 

He searches for Derek in his thoughts, trying to find him, but every time he chances upon a flicker of their bond, it slips away, a bright fish disappearing into the depths of the ocean. 

Ocean. 

He knows now. 

He’s drowning.

He remembers the pool, he remembers holding Derek up. 

 _You know when you’re drowning you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out…. it’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding. Then when you finally do let it in, that’s when it stops hurting. It’s not scary anymore, it’s… it’s actually kind of peaceful_.  

He remembers Derek’s limp weight against him, the terrible ache as he held him up. 

He relaxes, though everything in his head tells him not to. 

Then he falls, and falls, and falls. 

He hits what seems ground with a sick thump, and then the cold crystallises into a million points of bright flakes. 

It’s snowing.  

He flails about, and can feel himself moving. 

Lightning plays across the impossibly dark sky, illuminating a dense pattern of cracks on the ground. The air smells dank, devoid of life. Dead trees sprout in a petrified forest around him. 

“Scott! Cora! Isaac!”

No answer. 

“ _Scott!_ Buddy!”

He feels his heart racing, he feels the panic spreading out like an inverted whirlpool.

He pulls his red hoodie over his head, but it is little comfort against the cold. He clenches his jaw, and starts moving, imagining a path through the dead forest. 

“Where are you going?” 

He recognises the ancient voice of the Creature. He turns around. Behind the trees, he can see a pair of yellow eyes. 

"None of your business," he says curtly. This is an irritation, a distraction. 

"Oh, I think it's very much my business," the demon cackles. "Because you're about to make a very important choice." 

"Whatever," says Stiles, trying to hid the anxiety coursing stronger and stronger through him. He has to find Scott and the others urgently. 

"You can see her again," the Creature says, and materialises out of the nothing. It waves a clawed hand lazily, and a ghostly form appears. 

Stiles gasps. 

It's a vision of his mother. Claudia is staring ahead, her eyes soft, moist. 

She looks down mournfully. "Stiles," she whispers. "Why did you do this to me? It's so lonely... I miss you..." 

"Mommy!" the brunet screams, running up to her, but a painful jolt jerks him back as he reaches out. 

The image disappears. 

"Mom!' 

"Want to see her again? It's easy, Stiles." 

Everything in Stiles's head tells him not to; that it's a trick.  

"What do you want me to do," he says flatly, his fists balled. 

"Give them up," says the Creature, pacing towards Stiles, its hideous leathery wings flapping. "They're pretty much gone already." 

The Creature waves a claw again, and Stiles sees Scott and Isaac and Cora's faces, eyes dead. They seem to be bound together, staring out at a vast emptiness. 

"Never!" Stiles yells. "Take me instead!"

"Let me make this easier for you," the demon rasps, and its eyes light up again, a sickly orange. It drools as it lifts its front limbs up and summons forth a cloud of sparks.

Then they're floating in front of him, his mother to the right, the others to the left, no longer ghostly but full... real. The creature blasts them with the cloud of darkness. Claudia spasms, screams. Scott hisses and howls, while Isaac and Cora whine pathetically. 

They're hurting, writhing in pain It's the most horrible thing Stiles has ever seen in his life. He can _feel_ the energy being drained from them, the despair rising up rapidly: _just make it stop, just make it stop._  

 _"_ Choose," the Creature says triumphantly, snarling, slobbering. Its breath steams around Stiles, smelling like a thousand rotting corpses. "Or they are all lost forever... _in eternal pain, because of your selfishness_."  

Stiles sobs, agues spilling across his soul. How can he choose? He so wants to see his mother... wants her back, but he wants Stiles, wants Isaac, wants Cora reunited with Derek. 

He tries to summon all his strength, but only a weak pulse of light flashes out of him, draining him. He can feel the four souls in front of him losing hope, disappearing... 

 _I can't do this by myself_ , he gasps, feeling the darkness spiralling towards him. 

Then he hears his mother's voice, even as her form disappears in his vision. 

 _You are never alone, my son._  

Mom? 

 _He waits for you. Don't be afraid. I am already gone..._  

Mommy! 

The voice is lost. Stiles yawps, closes his eyes. He searches, guided by a sudden warmth. He sees a vortex of light, feels Derek's heartbeat, slow and steady. He sees eyes flashing, teeth growing, hears growling. 

There is a wolf behind his skull, and Stiles feels his eyes burn with a cool blue. 

" _Vade Satana!_ " he yells, and the current pours from his core, gathers in his hands, white balls of searing fire. They hiss, they arc, they spit, whirl towards the creature. 

The creature screeches, it is a sound no human has ever heard before: it drones beyond any measuring of it, hate, rage, undiluted anger. And defeat. A white whorl starts glowing in its chest, spreading rapidly through its body. 

There is a horrible popping sound, and blood bursts in all directions. 

There is a deafening explosion, and everything goes dark, and Stiles feels himself falling, down, down, down, down... 

He falls for what seems forever, and then he hears whining, sniffing.

He smells something... something warm, familiar, homely.... he's never been aware of it before: it's slightly musky, with hints of cinnamon, of lemon... it feels safe, friendly... 

 _Scott_.  

"Scott! Buddy!" 

The words echo through the darkness. Then he hears him, faint, but clear. 

"Stiles! Stiles! We're here!" 

Stiles doesn't know how, but he _wills_ himself across whatever chasm there is, and then he is on ground again, and he sees Stiles and Isaac and Cora, bound together, dangling upside-down from a tree in front of a cave. 

"Oh my God, I found you," says Stiles, giddy from the sudden joy of seeing them in one piece. They look haggard and dishevelled, and Scott has dried blood around his mouth, but they're alive. 

"Buddy," Scott says with a weak smile, while Isaac and Cora squirm frantically next to him, eyes wide with mixed hope and fear. 

"Let me get you down..." says Stiles, breathlessly. The werewolves hands are bound, so that they can't get their claws at the rope. Stiles can sense they've been tied with cords of mistletoe. If only he had a knife...

As he thinks it, he can feel something buzz against his waist.

It's a dagger. 

"Holy crap!" he says, incredulously. But he understands: his magic is flowing strong; he can summon almost anything because it's for the pack. He grabs the dagger, and chuckles to himself as the notices the triskelion engraved on its handle. Of course. 

Within seconds, he's cut the three down, and they groggily get up. Stiles hugs them breathlessly. Scott clings to him like a limpet, sobbing.

"Stiles... oh my God... I'm so sorry... I thought you were gone forever..." 

"Shut up, Fido," Stiles says and ruffles Scotts hair, while Isaac and Cora grin shyly.  "We better hurry. Got to get you back... wait..."

The brunet reaches for the backpack Deaton gave him, fumbles, and finds the rope.  

"What are you doing?" asks Isaac, his brow furrowed. 

"You gotta trust me. Stand together, I have to lasso this around you... and send it through the portal so we can pull you back..." 

"Portal?" asks Cora. "Where? How?" 

"I don't know," says Stiles. "Just trust me? Okay? I know this sounds ridiculous... but todays not a day for skeptics anonymous..." 

He loops the rope around them, ties it tight, grabs the free end. 

What now, he thinks. All he can hear is Deaton's words: _Connect, only connect._  

"This is stupid," says Isaac. 

Scott growls. "Do as he says, Isaac. He's risked everything." 

"Just close your eyes," Stiles says, panting. "Empty your thoughts... then focus on what is most precious to you... whomever, whatever. 

Stiles's mind empties as he sees the words hover in front of him: 

 _Brother sun, Sister moon..._  

There is a fine hiss, and Stiles openes his eyes. Another portal has appeared, a blue glowing maw, pulsing, gyrating. The power is flowing out of him rapidly now, and he knows he only has a short amount of time: he must harness this, before he's drained completely.  

"Okay!" he cries. He runs, yanks the free end of the rope, and forces it through the portal.  

There is a raging gale that blasts out of the globe of light, he can smell damp earth and forest. 

" _Lorelei! Deaton!_ " he shouts, hoping against hope. "Are you getting me!" 

Seconds pass, and he and the others exchange worried looks. 

"Wait!" says Scott. "I can feel something!" 

Stiles clutches onto the rope, letting his energy radiate freely towards the portal, subduing it with all his might. 

There is an almost imperceptible tug on the rope, but it's there, and then it gets stronger.

The rope is through, and the others are pulling on it; it's taut now, and Stiles grabs it, pushing with all his might while the others come as close to the portal as they can. It's repelling their life energy, not wanting them to get through, but the force of the rest of the pack on the other side is stronger.  

"Everybody focus!" Stiles yells.  

Inch by inch, the rope tightens, until it is stiff and taut, until Scott's face is level with the plane of light. 

"Stiles..." he says, uncertain, eyes glowing. 

"Go!" Stiles manages between breaths. The spell is draining him rapidly of his energy, but he knows he can get them to safety. 

He grabs Scott's hand, feels his friend squeeze his arm; then Stiles pushes him into the portal. Scott disappears, Cora and Isaac tumbling after him. 

As Stiles staggers towards them, he feels the last of his magic flow out of him. 

Just as he reaches it, the portal is gone. 

"Fuck!" he cries, then slumps forward on his knees. He's dizzy, terribly dizzy. He dry heaves, head pounding, heart racing. He tries to summon some power, but he topples backwards, completely enervated. 

He's stuck with no way out. 

Snow falls, and the wind whips up again, its echoes receding on and on into the boundless sea of nothingness. 

No matter where he looks, he sees emptiness, loneliness. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.  

He closes his eyes, resigned. _They're safe,_ he thinks. _At least that is certain._  

Then he hears the footfalls. His eyes snap open, and in the distance he sees the form coming towards him. The graceful lope, the musculature svelte and taut, the beautiful black ruffled hair, the fierce, kind eyes. 

 _Derek._  

The werewolf leaps and lands in a single bound in front of Stiles, and then he's on top of him, whining, howling softly, planting kisses on his lips and cheeks, burying his face in his neck. Stiles grips Derek tightly, feeling his warmth, sniffing his wonderful warm scent of moss and clean sweat. 

"Derek! How did you...?" 

"I don't know," he says breathlessly, bumping his nose against Stiles's chin ."I felt... your power... and then I felt something weaken, like you were calling for me... the portal let me in, and I found your scent..."

"Where... where are the others? I sent them through but I didn't have time to get there myself–" 

"I heard Scott's howl from the other side of the forest, so they must be there... we have to hurry, find another portal before it closes..." 

Stiles rubs his eyes, while Derek puts his arms around him protectively. "I don't know how we're going to do that... I've used up all my power or something..." 

"Bullshit," says Derek. "We're together now. I know our energies feed off each other. Borrow mine. That's how you got them through, didn't you?" 

"But I'll weaken you..." 

"You'll recover. _We_ will recover. And let's rather do that surrounded by milkshakes and curly fries than stuck out here." 

Stiles snorts. "That's something I would say."

"Hey," says Derek, kissing the brunet. "I guess we better get used to rubbing off on each other. Now do your magic stuff." 

Stiles exhales. He grabs both Derek's hands in his, squeezes, closes his eyes. The spark is instantaneous, there is a reverberation as their heartbeats synchronise. Stiles pushes the ward with all his might, pushes, it's like he's forcing a great ship against a current. 

But then the electricity hisses, and he feels the now-familiar hum of his magic racing, gathering. There is a halting, a catching, and then the light shoots out into the sky, illuminating the dead forest around them like a ball of lightning, and it arcs far far into the distance, and a small point of blue light appears on the horizon.

"It worked!" says Stiles. "Except I think I overestimated it... I threw it too far..." 

"It's okay," says Derek, breathless – he's surprised how the ward has sapped his own energy. "We just have to get there! Now! Here, jump on my..." 

But Stiles has raced off, sprinting ahead, disappearing below a low rise.

"Stiles! Wait..."  

Then Derek hears the yell, and the thud. He wolfs out, and leaps. 

Stiles is staring in horror where Kate has thrust the dagger into his side. Her eyes are wild, her grin demonic. The dark blood wells out around the wound, spilling onto the snow.

"Stiles!" Derek gasps.

"Thought I was a goner, didn't you?" Kate cackles. "Well, my dear sweet love, if I can't have you, _no-one can!_ " She twists the knife and yanks it out again, and Stiles screams. "Say goodbye to your little bitch!" 

Derek's eyes flash blue, and he hisses as he grabs Kate. She's still laughing as he tightens his clawed paws around her neck. 

"Guess you'll never feel... gaghhhh... what it's like to have your true love completely...agghghgh..." 

There is a snap as he twists her neck. Her tongue lolls out like a hideous purple slug. He flings her to the side where her limp body flops to the ground. Then there is a sizzling as her body starts to _liquefy_ into a bilious green slime. He hears a faint scream as the ground consumes what was Kate.  

"Stiles! Oh God!"

The brunet's breathing is rapid and shallow. Stiles is pale and cold as Derek shifts back and brings his hand tenderly to his love's face. 

"It's... it's... okay, Derek," Stiles pants. "There's still time for you to get to the portal... save yourself..." 

" _No_!" he rages, and scoops the brunet up in his arms, even as Stiles yelps with pain. The werewolf's hands are wet and sticky with his blood; the smell of iron mixed with the boy's scent is horrifying.  

"Just... stay... with me..." Derek says, then wolfs out again and starts running for all he’s worth. If only he can get to the portal, get them through him time, perhaps he can heal him. 

The snow comes down in giant flakes, the wind is a boundless blade of ice. 

*

Stiles is floating.  

He doesn't know how, but his body hovers above the snow. The flakes are falling fast; the wind whips around everywhere, a million tiny vortices trying to get under his skin and flay him alive. He is moving, somehow, the way the branches rush over him, even as he looks away, frightened they might reach down and claw his eyes out.

He remembers the creature. The hot putrid breath behind him, the snarling, the slobbering, the yellow eyes bright. Then Kate, the knife, the blinding pain. He tries to scream but there's no breath. He waits to die. 

And then, he's floating, and the warm blood trickling down his side reassures him he's still very much alive and getting queasy from the loss of blood and whatever's moving him so fast isn't helping either. 

Then he sees him —the one who's been carrying him— just a profile, in silhouette, as the moon briefly peeks out from the clouds.

"Derek..." 

And then, the awful shriek of the creature in front of them, and they're falling, and now he has breath enough to scream… 

“It’s too late,” it hisses, slobbering. Derek looks back, hissing. 

“But you can never have him!” the werewolf yells, trying desperately not to believe what the demon has told him, even as the blood pours all around them. “Your hour is up, he’s vanquished you!” 

The creature gives a final, horrifying lurch as they reach the portal, and Derek leaps, tumbles. The portal is right in front of them. 

The creature is dying even as it screams defiance. 

Then wolf and red are into the void, twisting, turning, falling into forever… 

  
* 

There was a sickening squelch as Derek and Stiles tumbled through into the clearing. Derek scrambled about, confused. They were covered in a viscous pink slime; giant globs of it filled his nose and mouth. Then he felt hands around them, wiping, pulling. He coughed, taking in a deep lungful of air. 

Scott and Lydia and Allison were there. 

“Quick!” Allison yelled, “get the ectoplasm off! Derek! Stiles!” 

“I’m okay,” gasped Derek. “But Stiles… he’s hurt…”

He looked down, where Stiles was lying limp in his arms. Derek was covered in his blood. 

“Oh my God, Stiles!” he yelped, shaking his boyfriend. 

Stiles twitched and groaned pathetically. 

“Derek?” he murmured. “Where am I?” 

“You’re safe,” Derek said, eyes wide and tearful. “It’s going to be all right.” 

“No it’s not, Sourwolf… but it’s okay…” 

“No! Don’t say that!” 

Derek was desperate as the others crowded around him. Melissa gasped as she saw the wound, now seeping bood slowly. Stiles was almost bled out, his face ghostly and pale as he shivered uncontrollably. 

“It’s so cold… Derek… it’s so cold…” 

“ _No!_ ” Derek sobbed, and grasped him tightly, stroking the slime out of the brunet’s hair. “I can… I can…” 

The werewolf closed his eyes, focused on Stiles’s heartbeat, placing his hand onto his chest. There was still life, and in an instant he knew what to do.  

He felt the hum, coaxed it out, cajoled it to join his wolf. A glow lit up in Stiles’s chest, and Derek howled as his eyes burned bright blue and a coil of light flowed out of him.  All the veins in his skin started swirling with black. 

“What is he…” Lydia gasped.

“No! Derek! Wait!” Scott yelled. “If he does this by himself it will kill him! All wolves, help him! Now!” 

Scott. Isaac and Jackson were there in an instant, grabbing Stiles’s feet and arms.

But even as they helped take the hurt and damage away, they felt the surge from Derek’s core. Derek wolfed out and howled. 

Red bled around his vision. All he thought of was Stiles.

Then he saw. 

And he _believed_ for the first time since the fire. 

There was a blinding flash and the three younger werewolves shot backwards. 

Stiles jolted and sat up, gulping air. Derek collapsed in his lap. 

“Derek? Oh my God! Did it work?! Are we all back safely?” 

Scott got up carefully and walked towards his friend. 

The young Alpha nodded. “Yeah, buddy… you got injured… but…” 

Stiles looked down, and even as he winced from all the dried blood that covered him, he gasped as he saw that the wound was healed. And then, Derek, twitching and gasping in his lap. 

“Derek?!” he cried, grabbing the werewolf by his shoulders. “Talk to me! What did you do?” 

Lorelei was crying. “He… he healed you… but he gave his entire life spirit to you… it won’t be long now…” 

The shock hit Stiles like a forty foot Arctic wave. 

“No! Derek! NO!” 

“It’s… better…this way…” Derek gaspsed as he looks into his love’s eyes. “You’ve got your life, you deserve to be happy…” 

“Shut up, Sourwolf… no…” Stiles said desperately. “I’m not doing this without you!” 

The entire pack was around them now. The Sheriff was standing behind Stiles, a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. Scott was crying openly, and Jackson was cradling Lydia in his arms. 

“I love you…” Derek gasped in a final sigh. His eyes flickered with blue light, and then he went limp in Stiles’s arms. 

“NO!!!!!!!!! Derek NO!!!!! You’re my… you’re my… mate!!!!” 

And in that moment, Stiles _howled._

The pain, the rage, the hurt of an entire lifetime coursed through him, and he felt a great light bleed into his vision. 

And he saw them, the three figures, clad in glowing white, smiling gently at him and the others.  

Unmistakable. 

Mrs Hale. Mrs Argent. His mother. 

“Mommy?” he gasped, tears pouring down his face and dripping down onto the lifeless body of the werewolf he loved. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it's all come to this!!!!! Thanks for being patient, but I fussed over this chapter for a long time to make sure everything linked as effortlessly as possible. And of course I have to torture my protagonists as well. Question is, am I a miserable bastard, or will I go for the happy ending? You decide ;)


	33. Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We don't have much time, Stiles," said Claudia. "Though it is so wonderful to see you, so close. The three of us have been watching you all, our children; and now we can help set right what went wrong.” 
> 
> Stiles fought the tears and clenched his teeth, trying to find words. They came. "Have you... have you come to fetch him? Please... please no..." 
> 
> "That depends," said Victoria. "It depends whether you believe that he's yours. That you're his..."

_The wolf snarled at the monster, teeth gleaming white and sharp. The form screeched, and suddenly its face changed: it wasn't Little Red's grandmother at all._  

 _"It's a witch," said the wolf. "She's jealous of our friendship."_  

 _"How so?" gasped Little Red._  

 _"Because it's unnatural!" screeched the old hag, her teeth rotten and yellow. "They're supposed to eat little girls like you!"_  

 _Little Red was nonplussed, to the wolf's surprise. "The only unnatural thing is your hatred of all things good. This wolf is kind, and gentle, like all his kin."_  

 _"I'll be the judge of that! Wait till the Hunters come in; then you'll see what humans really do to wolves."_  

 _"Actually, we're already here."_  

 _It was Little Red's father. He and a group of young hunters had burst into the room. They wielded axes._  

_They heard a furious knocking from inside one of the cupboards. Little Red's father hacked it open, to find the girl's grandmother bound and frightened, but alive in her nightdress._

_“I tried to warn you,” said her grandmother. “But there will always be those who misunderstand.”_

_“So kill me, then,” said the witch, baring her neck to the wolf._

_The wolf snorted._

_“I’m not like you,” he said._

 

_*_

 

A hush washed across the clearing like the halt of a wave.

The three women hovered just above the ground, their robes blinding white. 

John ran towards his wife, gasping. 

"John, Stiles," said Claudia, smiling at her husband and son. 

Stiles's face was screwed up in a mix of disbelief and anguish. 

"I don't... I don't understand..." 

Allison covered her mouth, her jaw agape. " _Mom_!" she cried.  

"It's all right, Allison," said Victoria. Her hair was still the same fierce red, but it was longer, softening her face. "Don't worry. I'm so very proud of you. But we are here to restore the balance."

And then Talia with her raven tresses, bending down and stroking her son's limp face.

"We don't have much time, Stiles," said Claudia. "Though it is so wonderful to see you, so close. The three of us have been watching you all, our children; and now we can help set right what went wrong.” 

Stiles fought the tears and clenched his teeth, trying to find words. They came. "Have you... have you come to fetch him? Please... please no..." 

"That depends," said Victoria. "It depends whether you believe that he's yours. That you're his..." 

"He saved my life," Stiles stammered. 

"And you can save his," Talia says. "Do you love my son?" 

"With all my heart," Stiles cried, beginning to sob earnestly now. "With all my soul." 

"Then tell him," said Claudia. "Tell him the way only you can. And let the pack... _your_ pack guide you."

Stiles was confused for a moment, and then he understood.

"I need you all," Stiles said. "I need you all to let my... _our_ love flow..." 

Scott and Jackson knelt down next to Stiles in a flash. The brunet placed his hands on Derek's chest, and Scott and Jackson followed with theirs. The entire pack gathered silently around the scene, linking hands, forming an unbroken circle of touch. The women joined them, Chris shuddering as he felt his wife's touch, warm, real. John broke into sobs as he linked his arm with Claudia's. Somehow he knew she would be gone soon, but now, right now, her touch was like it never left him: a small infinity of happiness.

"I've missed you so much, Claudie," he said, tears streaming down his face. 

"But I'm here, always," she said. "And you've been the best father anyone could have been to Stiles. But it's about them now. And Lorelei... it's fine. I'm not angry. Guide Stiles like you have. And be the best worker you can be." 

John wrapped his other arm around his son.

As soon as he felt the unbroken loop of love, Stiles shut his eyes and prayed. 

_Make me a channel of your peace..._

_Where there is injury let me sow love..._  

A brilliant point of light flashed in his thoughts. It was a twinkling star, the brightest he had ever seen. A constellation appeared. He recognised the ancient form of Canis Major. The outline coalesced into a wolf, a great shaggy black wolf, and around it a great forest appeared. Stiles saw himself running towards the wolf, face a study in joy and freedom. He jumped on the wolf's back; the wolf barked in approval.  

 _My mate._  

 _My everything._  

 _I love you._  

They raced into the forest, both howling at the great moon rising in front of them... 

Stiles opened his eyes, and Derek was looking back at him. The werewolf's hands grasped his neck, his eyes bright, warm, _alive_...  

"You're here!" Stiles gasped.

"I'm here," his mate replied. 

"I love you," the brunet said. 

"I love you too," Derek murmured.

The pack erupted in a chorus of elation. Then the three women were gone. 

The moon hung high, casting its light over Beacon Hills, smiling into corners and crevices.  

A great peace flooded through the forest, over the hills, across the city, saluting the sky. 

Derek's eyes glowed deep red as he leant in to kiss his mate.  

As he yielded to the kiss, Stiles felt a great drowsiness overcome him. He knew he was drained and his body demanded rest. But it was all right. He could sleep now. 

There would be no more nightmares. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're *almost* done, but not quite! As you can see, I'm not an evil bastard. Love conquers all. I will post the final chapter soon, replete with warm fuzzies and feels for everyone :) Thank you to everyone for their incredible support thus far! I love you guys!!!!!


	34. Au Clair de Lune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles nods stupidly. “You’re here! I thought you were…” 
> 
> The memory floods back, high and dry, a crowd of twisted things unfurling in his brain. The world has given up the secret of its skeleton. But there is a great peace in his core. 
> 
> "I'm here, I'm here," the werewolf croons. He slumps his head onto the brunet's chest; Stiles strokes his soft black hair. "It's all over. We won.” 
> 
> A smile lights up Stiles’s face. His head aches, but he doesn’t care. Derek Hale is next to him, holding him, holy shit, this handsome werewolf is not just his boyfriend but his honest-to-God mate. For life.

He comes to in his own room, afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. His body aches, as if he's in the throes of flu. He shifts around, trying to get comfortable. The world is blurry, spectral lines scattering across his vision like an element burnt in a flame.

Gradually his vision focuses on Derek’s face, who is staring dreamily at him. Derek is curled up next to Stiles, running his hands through the brunet’s hair.

Stiles sits up, his heart racing. and winces as he feels a spasm in his side where he was stabbed, but when he looks, there is no wound, only a faint redness. 

“Derek? Where am I? What…” 

"Sh, it's okay," the werewolf says, kissing him on the forehead. "You've been out for nearly a day. Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

Stiles nods stupidly. “You’re here! I thought you were…” 

The memory floods back, high and dry, a crowd of twisted things unfurling in his brain. The world has given up the secret of its skeleton. But there is a great peace in his core. 

"I'm here, I'm here," the werewolf croons. He slumps his head onto the brunet's chest; Stiles strokes his soft black hair. "It's all over. We won.” 

A smile lights up Stiles’s face. His head aches, but he doesn’t care. Derek Hale is next to him, holding him, holy shit, this handsome werewolf is not just his boyfriend but his honest-to-God _mate._ For life. 

Stiles whoops, and then clutches his stomach as he feels his belly aching. 

“He’s awake, people!” Derek shouts. 

Stiles hears furious footsteps racing up the stairs. His father bounds into his room, practically pouncing on him, squeezing his son’s hand like his life depends on it. 

"Son," says the Sheriff, eyes moist.  

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles murmurs, raising a hand weakly.  

“How did I get here? I remember… coming out of the portal and I was bleeding… and then Derek was hurt… and then he _wasn’t_ and the whole pack was there and… oh my God! Mom! She was there! She helped… and then Derek was holding me and…” 

“You passed out after you healed Derek,” says his dad. “He carried you. You were rouseable, but we put you to bed and you’ve been sleeping all this time. And Derek hasn’t left your side. Deaton says you're going to be sore and out of it for a few days, and you need rest for your powers to recharge or something like that.” 

The Sheriff smiles, and grabs Stiles's hand again. “The two of you… it’s a miracle. You did a great and beautiful thing. You undid the evil. All of it." 

"You gave your lives for each other," says Lorelei, who has appeared as if from out of nowhere. "That is the greatest love of all. It trumps _anything_."  

"Like your mother did for you," the Sheriff adds. "For all of us, actually." 

Stiles wants to laugh, to cry, to dance about. But his body hurts. It will heal, he knows. And Derek is here. That is all he needs. 

"You know what you two are, now," says Lorelei, sitting down at the edge of the bed.  

"Mates," says Stiles, smiling.

Derek looks up at him, this man with the amber eyes, the one who calms his soul. Stiles gazes back into the grey-green pools of the werewolf's irises; he wants to dive into them, swim in those pools for eternity. 

"Mates," he replies. 

"But you have to ask him," says Lorelei. "It's tradition." 

The werewolf darts his eyes to the Sheriff, who smiles and gives him a thumbs-up sign. 

Derek takes a deep breath, and brings his hand up to Stiles's face.  

"Stiles..." 

"Say his name," the Sheriff says gently. 

"Vojtech," Derek says, not stumbling this time. "Vojtech Stilinski, will you be my mate?" 

Stiles smiles broadly, and replies without hesitation, even though it hurts to talk. "Of course. Derek Hale, will you be mine?" 

"For forever and a day," the werewolf says, and they kiss chastely. 

Then Derek's eyes flash. A deep, brilliant _green_ , the green of all the emeralds still hidden in the Earth. 

“What the hell was _that_?" Stiles gasps.

"Something very special," Lorelei replies. "I've never seen it before... but it's the colour a True Alpha shows to his True Mate." 

Derek shrugs, and blushes slightly.  

"True Alpha?" Stiles says, raising his eyebrows. “ _Awesome_. Show me your Alpha eyes!”  

Derek groans, but lets his eyes glow deep red. 

“You’re like my own personal werewolf traffic light! This would be an awesome party trick!”

“Shut up, Stiles.” 

The Sheriff laughs. "Apparently Derek's sacrifice gave him True Alpha status. I would leave you two for a bit. But the whole pack wants to see you. They're all downstairs. And I don’t think Scott can hold out any longer. He’s been _whining_ all afternoon, we chased him out to get some fresh air…” 

"Oh my God, yes," Stiles says. 

"I'll call him," says Derek. "I think we can bear being separated for a few minutes longer." 

Scott sobs when he sees his friend, and Stiles has to hug him tightly to console him, to the point that it hurts to breathe. 

"Easy, silly puppy," he half-gasps. "Feeling a bit fragile here." 

"I can fix that," says Scott, who relaxes his grip. He places his hand on Stiles's neck and starts leaching away the pain. Stiles feels buzzing and tingling, and then the tremendous relief that floods through him. 

"That's amazing," says Stiles, who slumps back into his pillow. 

"I'm _so so_ sorry, Stiles, for being such a dick." 

"Oh please. I'm sorry for being such a bitch." 

"You saved me," says Scott.  

"You would have done the same, Fido... I love you, you big dope. You're my brother." 

Scott grins. "I love you too, buddy. You're _my_ Batman. I wouldn't have gotten here without you."

"I know, says Stiles, rolling his eyes. "I'm just too awesome for my own good." 

"Ha. How are you feeling?" 

"Tired. Fucking sore. Like I could sleep for centuries. But kind of peaceful, you know?" 

"I know. Lorelei... she's awesome, by the way... says Beacon Hills is finally clean. Deaton says you're going to take a day or two to recover. Partly because your body is getting used to these awesome new powers you've developed." 

"I'm still confused about that." 

"I'm not the brightest when it comes to these things, buddy," Scott says, patting Stiles's shoulder, "but it's something about you being a Red. Like a very special human who is a magic worker in a pack. One who can cast out evil spirits, see the future sometimes, hold the pack together. You were destined for this, somehow."

Stiles is quiet for a moment. "I need a Slushie. And a cheeseburger. Maybe two.” 

“I can organise that," says Scott. "Can I call the rest of the pack in so long?"

Stiles nods, and can't help relishing the fact that he's officially flavour of the month for the time being. 

Then the whole pack rushes in… Allison, Lydia, Jackson, Danny, Ethan, Isaac. They pounce on the bed, each grabbing a piece of Stiles - a leg, a foot, a shoulder - and nuzzle and bump and whine. Stiles is at the centre of his own big puppy pile, his arms around his two closest wolves, Derek and Scott. He can hardly breathe from the weight, and it’s fucking _awesome._    

*

"Derek, I have a proposition for you," says Scott as they sit down on the steps of the Stilinskis' back porch. 

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Yes?" he says, unsure of what's to follow. 

"You're an Alpha again. I'm an Alpha. Both _True Alphas_. I'm not sure what that all implies... but I remember one of the first things you told me when I met you was that wolves are stronger in packs, and I've always thought there was something missing when I became Alpha when you left."  

"What are you saying?" 

"You. You were missing. So I was thinking. Why don't we do this... together? We have an amazing pack already. Why don’t we be co-Alphas? Like co-Captains?“ 

Derek is speechless for a few moments. "You mean, lead together?" he says eventually. 

"I've already discussed it with everyone. We want you, Derek. This is your pack as much as it is mine. Plus who better can I ask for to teach me what I still need to learn?"

"Stiles put you up to this, didn't he," Derek says smirking. 

"Partly. But the pack's decision was unanimous. Come on, Derek, say yes. You already led my pack when I wasn't... here. You did a great job." 

Derek smiles broadly. "I'm overwhelmed. But yes. I accept."

"Good," says Scott, "because we better hightail it to Lydia's house. She's called everyone together and has been cooking all morning. She'll be pissed if we arrive late for leading our first pack meeting as co-Alphas. And Stiles needs to sleep, I guess.” 

Derek smirks. "Absolutely," he says, chuckling. "She is actually the Pack Overlord, I've realised. Perfect position for a banshee." 

  
* 

The brunet and the werewolf stand together under the lukewarm stream of the shower for a long time. Derek keeps an arm around Stiles as he washes him gently with a sponge. It’s only two days later, and Stiles is still wobbly on his feet; his torso is mottled with bruises. But he's still the most beautiful thing Derek has ever seen, and his fangs lengthen ever so slightly with approval.

They dry each other off gently, and Derek guides him back to the bedroom. Stiles pulls on a pair of boxers, while Derek gets into his trademark pair of grey sweats.

"I guess I should leave you to sleep," says Derek, stroking his mate's hair after he's curled up in bed. 

"Are you being dense on purpose?" says Stiles with a frown, and shifts up, patting the space next to him. "I want my... my mate next to me." 

Derek's eyes can't help flashing with happiness as Stiles says "mate". 

"Sorry," he says. "Force of habit. I... I... I'm still getting used to..." 

"Derek?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Shut up and spoon me.”

“Only if we lose the clothes, then. I want to... _feel_ you against me.” 

“That can definitely be arranged.”

* 

Derek sighs deeply as Stiles settles against him, their legs coiling around his each other. Stiles's skin is cool against his own, smoother than he ever imagined. He kisses the brunet's shoulders, buries his nose in his hair, strokes his taut belly, gently avoiding the scratches he just cleaned and dressed. Stiles reaches back an arm and tickles the small of the werewolf's back, his thumb making small circles just above his gluteal cleft. 

Derek lets out a low growl of contentment. They're safe, warm, together.  

"Stiles?" 

"Yeah buddy?"

"You're my home," he says, and inside, his wolf howls with joy. "I love you." 

"I love you too, my Sour... I mean, _sweet_ wolf."

Below, the Sheriff has put on a cassette he found amongst his wife's belongings. There is a hiss, and then a piano starts playing. _Clair de Lune_ floats up the stairs, into Stiles's room, blending into the moonlight washing over the two sleeping men. The music lists gently with their breathing, finally pouring out into the summer night that wraps the little town in its soft sparkling blanket.  

In Derek's embrace, Stiles is floating.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! I can't believe my very first big fanfiction effort is complete! It's been an amazing journey and thank you so much to everybody who commented and gave their advice and of their time! Now that the bug has bitten, I'm afraid there will just have to be more and more... probably a lot of it slushy feels. This is how I want Stiles and Derek to be: happy, together, forever. 
> 
> I blame Jeff Davis, insomnia, chocolate and the impossible beauty of Dylan O'Brien and Tyler Hoechlin. 
> 
> This one goes out to the werewolf in all of us...
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! :) And I will gladly consider any prompts you might have ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the full text of T.S. Eliot's "Rhapsody on a Windy Night", the chief inspiration for this work:
> 
> Twelve o'clock.   
> Along the reaches of the street   
> Held in a lunar synthesis,   
> Whispering lunar incantations   
> Dissolve the floors of memory   
> And all its clear relations,   
> Its divisions and precisions.   
> Every street lamp that I pass   
> Beats like a fatalistic drum,   
> And through the spaces of the dark   
> Midnight shakes the memory   
> As a madman shakes a dead geranium. 
> 
> Half-past one,   
> The street-lamp sputtered,   
> The street-lamp muttered,   
> The street-lamp said, "Regard that woman   
> Who hesitates toward you in the light of the door   
> Which opens on her like a grin.   
> You see the border of her dress   
> Is torn and stained with sand,   
> And you see the corner of her eye   
> Twists like a crooked pin." 
> 
> The memory throws up high and dry   
> A crowd of twisted things;   
> A twisted branch upon the beach   
> Eaten smooth, and polished   
> As if the world gave up   
> The secret of its skeleton,   
> Stiff and white.   
> A broken spring in a factory yard,   
> Rust that clings to the form that the strength has left   
> Hard and curled and ready to snap. 
> 
> Half-past two,   
> The street-lamp said,   
> "Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,   
> Slips out its tongue   
> And devours a morsel of rancid butter."   
> So the hand of the child, automatic,   
> Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.   
> I could see nothing behind that child's eye.   
> I have seen eyes in the street   
> Trying to peer through lighted shutters,   
> And a crab one afternoon in a pool,   
> An old crab with barnacles on his back,   
> Gripped the end of a stick which I held him. 
> 
> Half-past three,   
> The lamp sputtered,   
> The lamp muttered in the dark.   
> The lamp hummed:   
> "Regard the moon,   
> La lune ne garde aucune rancune,   
> She winks a feeble eye,   
> She smiles into corners.   
> She smooths the hair of the grass.   
> The moon has lost her memory.   
> A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,   
> Her hand twists a paper rose,   
> That smells of dust and eau de Cologne,   
> She is alone   
> With all the old nocturnal smells   
> That cross and cross across her brain."   
> The reminiscence comes   
> Of sunless dry geraniums   
> And dust in crevices,   
> Smells of chestnuts in the streets,   
> And female smells in shuttered rooms,   
> And cigarettes in corridors   
> And cocktail smells in bars. 
> 
> The lamp said,   
> "Four o'clock,   
> Here is the number on the door.   
> Memory!   
> You have the key,   
> The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair.   
> Mount.   
> The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,   
> Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life." 
> 
> The last twist of the knife.  
> \- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21891#sthash.OuZgiHlo.dpuf
> 
>  
> 
> As always, comments and suggestions greatly appreciated! And I LOVE doing prompts. Want it? I'll write it (except smut for smut's sake.)


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